#they are not into it at all they are probably repulsed by the very idea of it

[totheidiot]

i think we can put all the versions of death note and its adaptations into a spectrum based on how much light and L want to kill each other and on one side of the spectrum, it's the death note japanese musical and on the very other side, it's the death note tv drama.

[northwest-by-a-train]

Oh this is scathing

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material. 

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.

[softtdaisy]

need your touch / Aaron Hotchner

summary. Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until he became touch-starved.

words count. 2 776

what to expect. kind of grumpy x sunshine, very sad, mention of foyet and the attack, but very sad

a/n. I had this idea reading a book and I felt so sad about the man suffering from that, that of course I wanted to do with Hotch too so here it is

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

The shivers. The disgust. The sudden need to wash his skin.

Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until it was too late.

It wasn't until he actually became touch-starved that he realized this. 

The first time he realized something might be wrong was after a case. One that they all thought would take days but was surprisingly done after a few hours. After they finished packing, Rossi walked behind him. “Well done,” he congratulated Hotch by patting his shoulder. 

He had a slight and unconscious movement of recoil. Something Rossi didn’t notice, already focused on someone else. But something that stayed in Hotch’s mind and didn’t leave him. 

Soon, he realized how every little moment where he was touched by somebody else made him feel sick. 

He had to fight against the need to run to the bathroom after shaking hands with anybody.

He started avoiding every form of affection from the team, not that they were numerous but still present.

And if after his divorce with Haley, Hotch stopped the whole dating process, the idea of being intimate with someone became a real anxiety issue. Hands getting lost on his body, the feeling of lips leaving wet marks on his skin… this was too much for him. So much so that he didn’t even know how to get over this now.

And with months spent staying away from any type of physical contact, he started to feel the consequences on his mental health. He was the one avoiding it, but in his mind, the idea of being repulsive started to grow.

The thing was, he knew exactly where it came from. 

It could have been “the best part” of this if he could find a way to fight against it.

But it was definitely the “worst part” of this whole mess.

Because there was nothing he could do about the memory of almost dying in the hands of George Foyet. Every physical contact was a reminder of the worst night of his life. His brain ended up associating it with the feeling of dying. Again and again.

If he had been feeling better, he probably would have found it funny that the universe decided to put you in his life at the exact moment he was starting to lose it.

Just like that, one day, when he arrived in the meeting room, you were there next to Penelope.

“Let me introduce you to the most amazing little fairy you will ever meet,” she said, her hands on your shoulder like a proud mom. Which, of course, caused some laughter from the team. Not that they doubt you could be some kind of fairy, especially if you were the one Penelope chose to work with her. 

“As you know,” she pursued, “I asked to have another pair of hands to help me, and so here is my little ray of sunshine.” 

“Ok,” you laughed, patting her hand gently. “I think we can stop with the cute nicknames; they got the idea.” 

The whole time you spent explaining what your job would be, basically supporting Penelope in her office but also going more on the field with the team to be the connection between them and her, Hotch never stopped looking at you.

Penelope was right: you were a pure ray of sunshine. You lighted up the whole room in a way he forgot was possible after years of discovering the worst cases between these walls. You kept smiling and laughing, joking with Derek at his silly remarks and blushing when you heard Emily’s compliments on your hair. You were already a part of the team in less than five minutes.

And when you walked to him to shake his hand, he realized there was something even more special about you.

For the first time in months, he was able to touch someone else without feeling any disgust. It was even pleasing.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a low voice, still in shock from the lack of reaction his body gave. He got lost in the beauty of your eyes when you looked at him. More than the color of them, which was straight from a painter’s palette for him, he found some peace in it. You didn’t know all the struggle he was going through. 

You were like an open door to something new. To feel like himself again.

Of course, it would have been too easy if he could have just started to feel at ease next to you and put his touch revulsion away in a flash. 

Hotch was still the boss, and you were working for him. If he were being as responsible as he felt he had to be, he would put a respectful distance between the two of you. He couldn’t be there, longing for your touch.

But, without meaning to, you were making things way harder for him.

You were the affectionate type. And soon the team learned that they couldn’t escape your overflowing need to have physical contact with them to show your appreciation. Even Spencer, who made it clear from the start that he wasn’t comfortable with this type of affection, ended up asking for some of yours. 

Like the high five when the team progressed in the case, the handholding—or grabbing, in your case—for the person next to you in the plane or the comforting touch when you felt like one of them needed it. A hand on the shoulder, a squeeze on the arm, your fingers patting your thighs softly when a meeting was going wrong, or even a hug when it was necessary. It was a normal habit for you, and soon it became one for the team too.

You weren’t sure Hotch was appreciating it though. He was your boss, and for obvious reasons, you tried to keep a distance so you wouldn’t get fired for sexual harassment. But if you felt like some of them barely needed your affection—yet, still appreciated it—like Emily or Derek, and some truly loved having you around, like Penelope, there was something different with Hotch.

That man was the incarnation of sadness, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first time you overpassed your feelings about it was during a case involving children. The meeting with the sheriff went terribly wrong, and Hotch, who always seemed so calm and composed, let his anger out when he got up. Slamming the chair against the desk and closing the door just as hard. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before running after him. “Hotch!” you yelled, a little louder than intended since people turned around. Well, most did, except for the one concerned. You had to run after him outside to finally be able to grab his arm. “Oh god, I’m not trained for this stuff,” you said, out of breath. 

He stayed silent. Still in shock that you went after him. Still in shock that your touch didn’t make him feel sick. Once again. He even found some comfort in the way your thumb was naturally brushing his wrist; he could feel your tenderness even through the tissue of his shirt.

“Are you ok?” you asked before laughing. “I’m stupid; of course you’re not. But…can I do anything?” 

Hotch was impressive for many, many reasons. He was your boss, sure. He was older than you; it was a fact. But he was terribly and undeniably handsome. It wasn’t easy to be in front of him most of the time. But right now, alone in the street, facing his eyes that were leaving your face and his deep silence, it was even harder.

“Can I offer you a hug? Maybe?” Your voice was so low that you were convinced he didn’t hear you. Which was probably for the better. You could live with the idea of missing the opportunity because you didn’t speak loud enough. Less with the idea that he deliberately ignored you.

But soon, you watched his movement as he made a step towards you. As his arms opened up before closing against your body. As his head is buried in your neck. It took you a second to react, and you held him tight against you. Your hand went to his back to caress it slowly. 

You wondered when was the last time he experienced a comforting hug.

Hotch knew it had been roughly a year. 

The following weeks, you noticed Hotch took some distance with you. You’d like to say he did it again, but the truth was you don’t think he was doing it deliberately before the hug. Now he was doing everything to not be close to you.

It was late at night when your bell rang. The camera on your phone immediately gave you the image of the man standing in front of your door. A tall man with dark hair and a dark coat that you knew well since these days have been cold and it was your boss’ favorite.

You didn’t question Hotch's presence at your door until you opened it and were met by his sad figure. “This has to stay between us,” he immediately said in a hoarse voice. And before knowing what this was about, you nodded. You had the feeling you couldn’t refuse what he was asking for. 

You watched as he entered your apartment. As he took off his coat, putting it on a hanger and hanging it on the coat rack in precise movements. Like he repeated it in his head many times to make sure everything went smoothly. Or to reassure him that if he didn’t mess up here, it meant he was doing the right thing.

And you watched as he faced you, again, and went to your arms immediately. This one took you by surprise. You were used to being the one initiating the hug, not the one receiving it. Or, more exactly in this case, giving it without offering it in the first place.

Because Hotch wasn’t holding you. He was being held by you. More than that, he was holding onto you tightly, craving your touch. You could feel his fingers grabbing the thin tissue of your pajamas. Like he feared you might disappear any second. Fearing that he would lose the only person that made him feel good about himself again.

The hand you put on his back slowly moved to his neck, softly touching and caressing his skin. In any other moment, this was something that would have stressed him. Hotch always felt sensitive in this part of his body. He used to love being touched there, but after these past months, the idea of someone else's hand here was impossible to conceive. But here he was, longing for your touch. Hoping you never stopped.

And when you leaned back, he was glad that your hand didn’t leave its place. “Let’s sit so we can talk, ok?” you offered in a whisper. It seemed right to grab his hand at that moment to guide him, as if your apartment wasn’t small enough that your living room was more than apparent from the door.

You found it funny, once you both settled in your vintage sofa, how you looked like two opposites. You are in your pajamas, far from the professional outfit you wore all day. While Hotch was still in his suit, it looked like his day had just started. 

Except for the tired eyes and the exhausted expression. You knew it wasn’t even caused by work; you had a very casual office day. Maybe that was the saddest part. How life has exhausted him to a point of no return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, suddenly realizing that maybe you should give him the chance to decide instead of imposing an explanation. 

At first, Hotch didn’t reply. His eyes were still on your hand holding his, how little it looked compared to his big fingers. There was something almost fragile in his behavior, how he looked smaller, trying to disappear in your cushion. 

And so, you started to talk for him. You told him what you did when you got home, what you ate, and what you watched during dinner. Trying to keep his mind entertained. And since you had the habit of speaking with your hands, you kept playing with his fingers or hitting his thigh. 

“You’re the first person that can touch me,” he finally said after hearing one of your silly facts about burning your soup the other day. But his revelation didn’t ruin the mood. Sure, you weren’t laughing anymore, neither was he—even if he didn’t truly laugh, simply giggling. But the way you turned to him, your knee falling on his lap and your hands grabbing his in a protective way, he felt at ease. 

Hotch couldn’t look at you when he told you about Foyet, what happened that night, the stabs, and how he actually remembered everything compared to what he said to the others. But he was still looking at your hands. “After that, I realized that the idea of being touched was frightening. I just couldn’t handle it and avoided it at any cost. The feeling of someone else’s skin on mine was just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes at the memory of the sickness it used to give him. 

When you stopped brushing his skin with your thumb, he put his hand on top of yours. “But not you,” he continued, looking up at you. “Being touched by you is like an antidote. I can’t explain it.” 

Now that you were thinking about it, you realized that more than once you saw Hotch step back to not be touched by anyone. Something you never paid more attention to. You weren’t a profiler, not like the team. So you didn’t question his freeze when someone approached him, the tension in his jaw when he had to shake hands, or that the only person he sat next to on the plane was Spencer, the one that wouldn’t touch him without permission. 

“I don’t want to escape your touch.” He said after a long pause. You could tell from his eyes that it wasn't easy for him to say those things. “I need it.” 

This sounded like a confession. It was actually the first time that Hotch acknowledged that more than accepting your skin on his, it became a necessity. An urge to be touched by you. And feel alive. 

“What are you asking me, Aaron?” You asked. You were confused about the situation. “I’m happy to help, and I would have understood if you had asked me to stop being this affectionate with you because it makes you feel uncomfortable. But here…”

Something changed in his eyes; you could see it. And before you could understand, Hotch was up and already walking to your door. “I’m sorry. This was inappropriate.”

Running after your boss in your pajamas and slippers was not on your to-do list today. So you grabbed his wrist, but when you tried to pull him close to you, he stopped at the same moment. And so you fell against his chest. Naturally, one of his hands went on your back to secure your body. You did the same, putting a hand on his chest. 

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. “I want to help you,” you said in a low voice, like a secret you wanted to keep between you. “I’ll gladly do it.” 

Something softened in his body when he couldn’t find the one thing he was convinced people had for his behavior. Judgment. Hotch had been convinced that anyone was judging him. And maybe some did, for what he knew.

You didn’t. All he could see was a comprehensive look and a will to do right. 

“But I need you to guide me,” you added. Slowly, you went for his other hand, held it, and brought it to his chest. 

You stayed like that. Skin to skin, body to body. This moment lasted longer than all the physical contact Hotch had in the past months. And you could feel his fingers untighten slowly, just like most of his body. Accepting your embrace, your touch, your help. You even saw a little smile grow on his lips, very subtle but that meant so much.

Maybe Hotch died a few months ago. Maybe a little part of him had accepted it.

But now, he had the feeling that in between your hands, he could experience life again. And with your help, making it worth living.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Mojito: bottomless brunch and bottomless life

Word Count: 3.0k Contents: angst, cursing, some dark themes, threat of violence, not proofread

Still no message from Gojo. 

You don’t expect him to reach out. He hates you. And it’s not as if he’s going to say congratulations for your engagement to the Zenin, if only because it won’t be announced until months later, when the forced engagement allegations with the Gojos die down, or so your mother says. 

Knowing the probabilities, you still can’t help but check your phone every minute or so. 

It had only been hours after your mother had so graciously broken the news to you and despite that, you’ve found yourself at yet another family dinner discussing wedding preparations. It’s some sort of cosmic mockery, you think. This time, however, you’re at the world’s most frigid hellhole. 

The Zenin Manor is as repulsive as ever — the decor is gaudy and hideous, with bright red carpeting, random displays of medieval armour and taxidermies ranging from great bears to little rabbits. In every room, and there are many, they’ve hung up chandeliers made of, what you can only guess to be Swarovksy crystals, and even the hand soaps in the bathrooms are Chanel. If you steal one, you could probably fund someone else’s tuition for a year or two and they wouldn’t notice. You’re tempted to try.

And then, there’s the actual inhabitants. 

The way they laugh haughtily, flaunt their perfectly aged wine, and look at you with those stone-cold beady eyes all Zenins seem to be born with. It’s all so plastic. A polystyrene bonanza. Women of your age snickered behind manicured hands and French tips, men of all ages leered with sickly sweet gazes, and even the children looked down on you. A baby scoffed at your dress. A fucking baby. 

You hated it here when you were a little girl, and when you were a teenage, and you hate it now as a woman about to marry into the damn family. 

With the way your life is going, you feel inclined to agree with Nietzsche; God might just be dead. 

Or, at the very least, mean.

“You take philosophy, no?” A lady around your mother’s age asks, cutting through the conversations at the long dining table. 

Gulping down bitter-tasting wine, you force a smile, your mother’s nails digging into your thigh. Somewhat flustered by the way she seemed to have read your mind, you answer, with a jovial tone, “That’s right. It’s been an interest of—“

“Oh, goodness. Philosophy is such a dreadful subject. All that talk about nihilism and whatnot to no end. Life is so amazing, why ruin it with miserable ideas against capitalism? Capitalism built this country!”

Someone else says, “It’s an awfully useless subject too. As I’ve been discussing with the Ryomens, we should do away with these Mickey Mouse degrees. All these arts and crafts and ridiculous gender studies rubbish! The children need to learn about the economy and maths and science! How else will they ever contribute to our society?”

A round of hums of agreement resound. 

You don’t say a thing the rest of dinner. And no one asks you for anything either.

The wedding has been planned without a single input from you, from the peonies that will litter the aisle to the peach bridesmaids dresses on the Zenin girls you don’t even know to the fact that you’ll be dropping out of Eden University to begin your stay-at-home life immediately. 

You listen to all that they have to say, static playing in your head, nodding as if on autopilot until you’re guided to your room by a maid. And in there, huddled against the door, you cry.

Within five years, you had lost everything. First your family’s fortune, then your best friend, and now your freedom. You should have taken the engagement With Gojo more seriously, should have tried harder to make him like you, because even if he couldn’t grow to love you, you’re at least confident enough to say he’d never steal your future from you. If anything, it was you stealing his from him. 

There’s no one you can talk to. Your only real friend is in a coma, your father is always too drunk to know what’s going on, and your mother?

Not a single memory of a heart-to-heart can be found when you think hard about the last time she was willing to hear you out. In fact, on the car ride over from the hospital to the manor, she only rattled off all the conditions the Zenins had made, the rules and expectations they had.

You have a curfew at six in the evening, you cannot bring friends over (which is fine since you have none you’d want to show this side of your life to), you cannot ever, under any circumstances, be seen with Gojo (also fine since you’ll probably never see him again anyways), and worse of all, your wardrobe will be managed by a family-approved stylist to ‘ensure you don’t tarnish the picture-perfect image they’ve cultivated over centuries.’

This whole thing is fucked. 

And you hate that you’re crying over it but nothing can be done, you supposed. At least this way, your family will be taken care of. Your father might just get the help he needs and the stick up your mother’s ass will be taken out and burnt…hopefully. 

Not to mention, it’ll be much easier to pay for Asahi’s hospital bills this way.

Right, so it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. 

You’re going to be just fine. 

No matter how your life is turning out, you’ll find a way to thrive, just as you have done before and you will again. The Zenins will leave you alone as long as you comply — wear their stupid clothes, attend their stupid events, smile like a stupid wife, bear some stupid Zenin babies, and you’ll be fine. 

Oh fuck. 

You’ve forgotten all about the actual man you’re marrying: Naoya. 

There’s no telling what that man is thinking. Maybe he has just as much interest in this marriage as you do, maybe you’ll rarely ever see him, and maybe the rumours are wrong. 

Is this all just wishful thinking?

Maybe you need to consider backup plans. But where could you go? Who can you turn to?

You sigh, head thudding back against the door. 

This room they shoved you in is just as ugly as the rest of the manor. Everything is so over-the-top and stereotypically feminine you can almost taste the artificiality of it all. There’s a pink lace canopy over some grandmother-like bedsheets, everything’s in pastel, and there are mirrors on every wall as if that’s all a girl could ever want or need. This prison tastes like strawberry-flavoured children’s medicine. And you think you might just throw up the dinner you’ve just eaten. 

You need to get out of here. 

Sneaking away is a lot easier than you thought it would be. The hallways are empty, and downstairs, past the foyer, you can hear the chattering in the dining room as they plot how to ruin your life and the high-pitched, pretentious laughter is fuelling your escape. There’s no life in this place, like the limp wick of a candle, only being lit to perform, and then blown out again when the watchful eyes are gone. 

That will indubitably drive you insane when you’re permanently trapped there. You’ll be brought out like fine china for charity events, to rub elbows and kiss ass, the winding key at your back turned and turned, tightening the spring inside until your smile is pulled higher up your cheeks and you dance like a circus monkey, all cute and whimsical with the threat of a whip always in the shadows, beyond the tent. 

Could you last ten years living like that? Even five? One?

You ponder all those questions on your way to the hospital, grateful that your dress, or what remains of it, provides a camouflage in the darkness of the night. 

At first, the hospital gave you reprieve every night, allowing you to distance yourself from your family and your own stuffy home, but then university started and you could only go a couple times a week, and then eventually only every Thursday, though here and there you’d visit more often, under the guise of going to the spa for part of your wedding preparation. There’ll be no more of that. 

It felt like betrayal to live the life he was supposed to, which is probably why the only friends you made are only good for getting high and accompanying you to raves. 

But still, you’re the only one who visits him, and now that you’re getting married to a Zenin, you wonder how often you’ll get to visit now. Once a month? Every year?

Breathing another heavy sigh, you walk through the familiar hallways, the ones that ironically feel much more alive than that god-forsaken place. The nurses smile at you, so do the patients through their open doors. You belong in here just as much as they all do. This is your true home. 

“What happened to your dress?”

You look to your left. 

A little girl is staring at you through the doorway of her own suite. You smile. 

“Hi, Noba. How are you?”

She kicks her little feet out, miles higher than the floor. Despite how late it is, she’s still awake, short hair bobbing with the tilt of her head. “Good. What happened to your dress?”

Stubborn as hell, you know she’ll follow you around and keep asking if you don’t surrender now, so you reply, “Got into a fight. It was terrible. I won, though.”

“Was it with that boy?” The look of confusion on your face makes her roll her eyes, tugging the line of IV with a wave of her arm. “Y’know, that snowman-looking boy. The really loud one. He was asking everyone about you. Even Shoko. She kept telling him to go away because she was helping me eat breakfast but he wouldn’t stop talking.”

Your heart clenches. 

“It wasn’t with him. But it’s okay. I’m fine.”

She isn’t convinced, you can see it in her doe eyes but she shrugs and shuffles on her bed. “My mummy says that all the time. I’m always in here but she says she doesn’t mind as long as she gets to be with me. Why do adults lie?”

You don’t have an answer and she doesn’t expect you to. Lying back on her bed, she stares at her pale hand, so small and fragile, and shakes it, entranced by the needle lodged inside. 

Your heart clenches again but for a different reason; Nobara’s been here longer than Asahi has. In fact, she hasn’t left since she was born, the nurses say. And yet her headstrong attitude has never wavered and she’s always a ball of light that cheers the other patients on. Sometimes you’d find her in your friend’s room organising the flowers, throwing out the wilted ones. You couldn’t imagine this place without her but more than anything, you really hope you can. 

“Are you going to see your friend?”

Nodding, you give her, what you hope is, an encouraging smile. That drops, though, when her head turns, arm dropping, and her eyes meet yours. You feel  spine-tingling dread crawl up your spine before she even opens her mouth. 

“He’s already got a visitor but I think he’ll be happy to know you came when it isn’t Thursday yet.”

Getting to his room is a blur, your body moved on muscle memory alone, and when you push the door open, the pounding of your heart thudthudthudding against your chest like a bomb ticking, all your worries come alive. 

Because, there, standing by an empty bed, is your future husband. 

His grin is twisted and shivers rapidly wrack your body, piercing your bones, hooking themselves in your flesh. He’s dressed in hunting clothes, a speckle of blood on his collar the only thing out of place. The bastard’s even brought the gun along, it’s leaning against the foot of the bed. 

And he doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see you here.

“Good evening, bride.”

Disgust crawls in your throat. His voice is indescribable but it’s just as plastic as anything else in his home. It’s the kind of voice that speaks nothing but high class politeness even though it’s riddled with thorns of venom. That’s a voice you’ll have to listen to for the rest of your life and it’s coming from a mouth you’ll have to kiss tomorrow.

Carefully, you take a step inside. “What’re you doing here?”

Fingers skimming the sheets on the bed, he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. He’s making it abundantly clear that he’s only answering what he wants to answer at his own pace, on his terms, and not yours. 

“I simply wanted to get to know my bride better. It’s been some time now since we last saw each other, no?”

Your hands ball up into fists, nails threatening to draw blood out of your palms. That pounding in your chest isn’t going away and sweat is dripping down your back. It feels as if you’ve wandered to the gates of hell, the threat of judging fire smouldering on your skin. 

“I must say,” he begins, eyes scouring your body in both repulsion and intrigue, “your personal style is not quite what I like, but on our wedding day all of that will be taken off, so I suppose it matters very little. They’ve told you your wardrobe will be managed by the estate, yes? You need not answer, I’m sure they have, and if they haven’t, well you know now.”

When you don’t say a thing in response, he continues. 

“You might feel like it’s all happening so fast but I must admit,” he muses, exploring fingers reaching the barrel of his gun now and you’re stuck in place when he lifts it up, aiming it at your head, “I’ve been planning this for a while now. I’ve had my eye on you since you were but a child clinging to your mother’s skirt even as she tries to shake you off. It was a curious sight. And when I found out about your engagement to that Gojo, I was livid. Of course, I knew all about your family’s misfortunes, try as your parents did to conceal it all, so I took no offence to the arrangement. No, what upset me most was that he was going to get first taste.”

Even with the distance between you, two metres or so, you can feel the phantom kiss of the cold metal against your forehead. You don’t need to wonder how he managed to bring a gun into a hospital; he’s a Zenin, they do as they please. But the knowledge that if you called out for help no one would come makes you gulp despite the dryness of your mouth.

You won’t humour him. You won’t listen to his spiel, won’t buy into the bullshit he’s spewing. Whether there’s any truth to his words or not doesn’t matter because the intention is all the same: he wants to rattle you. The rumours were true, just as you had suspected — he takes great pleasure in fucking women up, starting with their minds. 

Steeling yourself, you ask again, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

His grin grows impossibly wider like he’s glad you caught up on your own. The Zenin watches your eyes scanning the bed and then the room and the bed again; he’s been waiting for you to walk into his trap, an unfortunate deer all vulnerable to his violent desires. That was the real trap. 

Carelessly, he throws the shotgun on the bed. It bounces only once, settling in quite comfortably. You grimace. It’s still pointing at you.

“You’ve been visiting another man for years now. That wouldn’t look good for me if my wife paid so much attention to someone else, would it? No, I didn’t think so.” 

He steps towards you, adjusting his collar so casually one would think he’s talking about the weather.

“Erasing your party-girl history is easy; most of those ingrates you associated with are too high to even remember their names. But your visits to the hospital? Well, I can’t kill every patient here, can I?”

The twinkle in his eyes tells you he has definitely thought about it and he’d be very eager to try. You know he isn’t bluffing. You’ve always known what men like him, apex predators with limitless money, can do and do do. It was something your father did all the time, until he messed with the wrong people and made the wrong call and then he lost all his influence. 

“So, I took matters into my own hands.”

Blood running cold, you ask tentatively, “What did you do?”

You already know the answer. Maybe you knew it before you even came in, before you left the manor, or as soon as you met him at some party and his cold, unfeeling eyes never left yours. r

Every step he takes towards you sends you reeling back until you’re pressed against the wall and goddamn it you hate hospitals. Or better yet, hospitals hate you. His body heat is suffocating, the musky cologne he wears is too strong and it makes your eyes water. Everything about him is wrong. His hair isn’t white, his laugh isn’t addictive, and the windows to the void inside aren’t pretty and blue. 

When a hand, baby smooth, brushes your cheek, all you feel are prickles scraping your skin, like the tongue of a cat. 

“It was bad enough I had to get a Gojo’s leftover. What I will not put up with is sharing my wife with some no-name dribbling vegetable.”

Leaning in close, you can do nothing but let his lips tease the shell of your ear. No one’s coming. No one will help. No one will see your descent into oblivion as the very last of your spirit is crushed under the weight of his madness. And certainly, no one will catch you.

“You tell me what you think I did.”

He said it like it was some joke. The world’s funniest joke. But you’re not laughing. In fact, when your eyes fall upon that empty bed again, you feel like screaming. 

And so you do. 

All the way to the altar. 

[clitorphosis]

DOLL PARTS

Death Island Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON SEX, SMUT, female reader, age gap, abusive relationship, guilt tripping, Stockholm syndrome, dumbification ig, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, finger sucking, bruises, implied physical violence, internal conflict, teasing, guilt, implied obsessive behavior(Leon) i think, dirty talk, pet names, degradation.

Summary: There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is close to lose after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. For him, to kidnap you is to save that part. Cause life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Of course you don't understand.

notes: this is a mess I fear, but I had a blast writing this tho so idc LOL!!! Also thanks @writingwisterias for letting me bother you with my rambling and my indecisiveness with kidnapper leon（╹◡╹）I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 uhm, reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of feedback are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

Clocks are ticking, not only in real time but in his mind - a disturbing reminder of how at his age Leon wasn’t even able to settle down. Tick - tock. Of course, men can always find a young woman, and two or three times of unprotected sex would be enough to impregnate one. Still, Leon doesn’t believe that applies to him - alcohol is not only a boner killer but also of fertility. Neither does he crave babies, he can be considered a dad to Sherry, also they would only show how time flies. She is enough of a reminder, no need for more.

He found you on the dating app - Sherry suggested he try, as a joke, probably not expecting him to follow the advice.

For him, you looked like a doll. Almost a godsend. Pretty, young, and easy to manhandle. Almost drooled at the prospect of having your legs wrapped around his waist. He should feel guilty or disgusted at the idea to fuck you… at the images of the material of your panties clinging to your hips, wrinkling up with every movement before his fingers would curl under it to tug them down. Right? No-no, he is only 38 years old - at his age men are already bald, Leon is having an easy time here. He has a chance, always had.

While he was unsure what to do, was a simple ‘hello, how are you’ enough for you? Or would it be too simple? Or repulsive? Why is he even worried about that, you probably matched him on accident.

You texted him first, something he didn’t expect from a young woman - even women of his age don’t text him first, they are dry and uninterested. Like sex with them.

“hiii ^^” This forces a smile out of him. Again, three dots appear. “You didn’t swipe me as a mistake, right?:3”

He hesitates, his thumb floats on the digital keyboard for a moment. No, it wasn’t a mistake, still, he needs to gratify his ego. “If it was, would it get you sad?”

“yep, actually, very big big sad!”

That was it. Easy and quick to get closer to you. He expected more obstacles, maybe times changed indeed or you are into older guys. All he needed to do was to open his wallet, be nice enough, and show how a ‘real man’ should treat a woman.

Leon knows a lot about you. He knows too much information - where you live, your college, and where you work. Not in a creep-like way, no-no. You were the one asking him to drive you there. Maybe your youth is the only problem to blame on - you were a chatting box endlessly and easily sharing anything with him, maybe things you should not have to. Somewhat, this only attached him to you.

There are always some subtle hints and hidden alarms, no one usually gives a shit about. Also, understandable, to ask anyone who knows him - hard to find someone with a bad opinion of Leon.

“He is okay”

“A hero. Not everyone is capable of saving the president’s daughter” or a simple shrug.

Outside his work, Leon is… just a guy most of the time. Yes, of course, not the luckiest one with the ladies, but it is unlikely someone would describe him as the type to kidnap a girl. No one understands how middle age crisis is going to be hard to handle, he is pushing 40, surely enough it is already waiting for him at the edge of the doorstep - and Leon had enough of bullshit in his life, a pretty and young woman is the panacea for this. The godsend pill to erase his problems.

And finally.

Finally, the tremendous loneliness will disappear, leaving it behind him like a bad dream. The feeling that everybody in the world is doing something without Leon. He can’t stand this ever-consuming loneliness to spread anymore, today IS the day.

He can let himself be selfish just once. Right?

To reach his goal, there is a small step though, a sacrifice to make. That’s why he set a date, in a good and expensive restaurant too.

And today is the day. This shouldn’t be forgotten. The biggest day. The most important one. No, doesn’t do the justice. The absolutely, positively biggest day, may be the right choice of words for Leon.

On the spot already, waiting for you. This time he isn’t late. That bad habit since 1998, but for once he didn’t struggle with his punctuality - too petulant about what will happen, checking clocks every second. Almost like a goddamn teenager, shifting the weight from one foot to the other on the spot. Nothing can go wrong, he tries to calm himself, there are so many ways to cover your disappearance. Perks of the job.

He didn’t notice how you arrived here too until your perfume brought him to senses. Your face is soft, your eyelashes flutter and you are so untainted. Your younger frame reminds him of himself your age. 21 years old, 1998. When he was at your age he had already witnessed horrors, you don’t realize they still exist. Leon shakes his head, that memory never brings anything good, but today his mood is not ruined and the memory has only strengthened the urge to keep you close.

Leon needs you, untouched by horrors and he knows much better how life can be terrifying.

“You ready?” He flashes a smile, his mood is more upturned than it has ever been - you can’t help yourself, a grin spread across your face too. It is infectious.

“Mmm, I am” you nod, curling your hand around his elbow, to keep yourself closer to him. And he is ready too, god, he has never been so fucking ready in his life.

“Not late this time,” His heart clenches at your words, and he looks into your eyes with a cocked eyebrow - awaiting whatever you came up with. “not like you at all, should I expect a surprise?”

“Maybe, maybe not” He brushes off with a shrug, a smile is still on his lips as you get closer to the car, but he can feel your excitement.

“A ring maybe?” You giggle. He opens the car door for you to get in, you don’t want to let go of his arm.

“A ring? Already?” He says and shakes his head. No, not a ring, but a different surprise. He kisses your lips in a chaste way, hoping you will not try to harp on this topic. “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart, wait for it”

…

After dinner was different. A drop of temperatures and an easy flow of the air, dull lights of the street lamp illuminating your figures, inhaling the air in your lungs for the last time. The street is empty; no drivers, no smell of cigarettes, just you and him. And… silence fell upon you both.

Until his hand presses a tissue around your nose. It is suffocating; your nails dig into the arm, trying to worm out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, easy there” His voice brushes against your ear, soothing and intimate. The one he used when he fucked you. “Don’t make it worse for yourself...”

The warm body pressed against your back and kept you close until your body became pliant in Leon’s embrace on the silent night.

Tied up and unconscious. He is considerate enough to not let you experience the narrow space of the car trunk. With heaviness in his chest and like a scaredy cat, driving to his apartment - guilt shifts to euphoria in no time. You wanted this, no? Why would you stay with him after all? It doesn’t matter anymore. He was successful, finally. It worked. Today is his luckiest day, it should be highlighted on the calendar.

While this is the uncomfortable memory of your last date.

…

Every time you are alone, there are little things to do - you could have done some projects for college, maybe talk to friends and go to clubs. To catch a pretty guy, to have sex in the bathroom of the said club. Or fall in love with a guy of your age. It fills you with love and excitement like your hypothetical phone is going to ring as if you aren’t forced to be in Leon’s apartment.

Leon says you are a doll. Not those plastic bimbo dolls you see on social media with plastic acrylics that are longer than their eyelashes. Those reeks of cheapness by trying to be expensive, Leon has explained the difference to you. You are not Barbie or Bratz, those are ones you’d probably played with in your childhood, for Leon, you are another kind of a doll.

He is the one controlling you, making those dumb rules you’ve never memorized and you aren’t really going to. His grip around you is tight and your skin blooms with darker colors after playing with you.

Pretty, that word lives rent-free in his mind, almost becoming the most used of his. Favorite word. Your presence urges him to dress you up. A glance into the closet, most of it contains dresses and other items he has bought you. To take care of you, Leon almost emptied his wallet entirely for you a lot after getting you. It excites him. Admiring outfits he put you in and the same night, he is the one raising the fabric of your dress - two fingers or a dick inside you are enough to make you busy with moans and squirm.

He loves it, oh, he adores it. And your pussy is the best. It calms him, centers him - being someone’s center of the world is delightful, the only one time of the day in which he doesn’t feel insane. You make him feel sane, on the days when your mouth doesn’t run free.

From your point of view, he looks like he is trying to play house with you. In a wrong way. Playing house didn’t include tears or forced silence. Or forced participation. It should be fun, usually, it had been, at least in your childhood. Leon acts like this is normal like he didn’t just kidnap you during your date and force you to be here. He is still sweet, still spending his money on you (even though he doesn’t care about your preferences now), there is food on the table too. During the dinner, the silence is filled with stories from his work - names of people you don’t know. They don’t know you either, you aren’t the most famous captive girl on the planet after all. This is the bare minimum.

What’s more to ask for? Freedom, you are full of his shit actually, you would have preferred ignorance to be bliss cause his farce makes you feel insane. More unanswered questions flood your mind, they stick to your mind like a leech on the skin after a fresh swim on the summer day. You need to wash away this feeling, the only way is to question him. Right. First, you played nicely, still pitying him and holding him dear to your heart.

“What are you talking about, sweetie?” And a confused expression was his answer. He doesn’t even process what you said, just moves on. This didn’t work. Nothing fucking works here.

Now you prefer to poke those facts at him - like a harsh whiplash, a cold water against his face to bring him back to reality. You shouldn’t live like this alone.

Under your flesh there is a hidden hole filled with turbulent waters, almost tearing you apart - suffocating you with confusion. You wish hatred was the only reason to keep you sane, but the deep affection towards him still emerges like a bad dream. His tired eyes with loving and sweet nothing words come from his mouth, peppering your body and face with kisses when everything is right. The memories of nights with him flash in your mind: he is nice enough not to break you, while your body reacts in natural ways. You get wet, you feel pleasure, and his fingers know just the right spot to make your back arch.

This tears you apart, it confuses you too. Maybe there is something you don’t catch on, something missing. Conditioning? You aren’t a mindless idiot, nor a Pavlovian dog, but your body reacts like one. Maybe that’s a lie to reassure yourself. Still, you can’t drive yourself close to orgasm when he is not home. Your fingers aren’t enough anymore, almost with tears trying to get yourself off. To feel like your own person without him.

But something. Is. Always. Missing. You are incomplete.

…

It is already late, really late. Leon is a busy man, at least his job seems to be really important - so important, that he has always refused to tell you, avoiding the topic like the plague and switching to that honeyed tone, talking to you like a dumb puppy. Maybe it is some government shit job, something dirty - suitable for him.

But when he is late, many hopeful scenarios emerge, the most common is his car crushing to death. Good girls get gifts, their wishes get accomplished also, and they end up in heaven too - Leon told you that and to him, you are a good girl. Corny shit. Could he be right though? What if your wish was heard finally? Then remained trouble in your life would be to get out.

And the same dreams are crushed every time the sound of the car engine goes off, the jiggle of keys reaches your ears. You know it too well, you can recognize these little details and they fill you with dread. The sound of his steps, they are so different from others. The sound of his car doesn’t sound like those outside his house. Maybe you are insane, but everything he does is so recognizable it makes you sick.

And Leon is back.

His face is the only one you see, even in your dreams. There is nothing changeable in it. Light stubble, but still him. Shaved and it is still him. Different cologne. And still him. Leon sickens you, this little play often pushes your buttons, urging you to break this act and get yourself into trouble. Maybe the remains of hope are to blame, maybe Leon would change his mind and stop this.

He plops down on the couch, drawing your attention to him - impossible to ignore, if you did, you wouldn’t stop hearing the end of his complaints. His black shirt strains across his muscular body, the fabric is not shy to outline his big chest. Black suits him, but Leon looks good in everything forcing more dread stir in your chest.

“Finally, home” Leon sighs, his hand creeping up to pull you into his lap, acting unbothered. Your legs straddle his hips, facing him. Don’t forget, you are captive. And this is the part of the routine. He is going to watch those old movies from his childhood, or work silently(maybe he will nudge his cock inside you, to keep himself warm) and then he will fuck you. A tearful routine.

“…yay..!” You try to smile, forcing it to please him. Ignoring conflicting feelings in your body, anticipation to feel his dick mixed with dread. A yearning for change. Leon kisses your forehead.

His blue eyes feel heavy on your face, making you feel so little. “I missed you” Leon cooed with a honeyed tone, pulling you even closer. That light smell of beer coming from him forces your skin to crawl. His fingers pinch your cheek, tugging it briefly too. “My doll felt lonely today, right? Without me?”

Again, that mocking sweetness. The one you’d use for puppies. You nod with a hum “Mmm”

“I had a bad bad day today, those reports dried my eyes, god” he groans, his head tipped back, rubbing his eyes as to emphasize his words. But still gripping your waist. You don’t have the mood to be nice to him, his smile and relaxed expression stir dread and hate towards him. And yourself.

“You look like you had a bad day and not me” Leon comments, raising an eyebrow before his thumb tugs on the corner of your lips - smile. You had a bad day forever, your day can’t be compared to whatever he had today. His voice is sweet, but condescending, like he knows what is better for you. Leon doesn’t know shit.

“I don’t think you have reasons to be upset, huh? Your life is easy, baby” He snaps his fingers. Like an order. “pretty smile for me, no one likes grumpy girls”

“You are fucking sick… you know that?” Words spill out quickly and mindlessly, ignoring his distorted expression - you just want him to be in pain. Like you are. There is a hint of fear in your voice, subconsciously aware of what is going to happen after your words. “… you KIDNAPPED ME and you want me to play along with this act?…” A bittersweet pause. Adrenaline rushes through your blood, like after a good shot of vodka. “That’s fucking smart… asshole”

A hard swallow, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat. Anxiety. This time, your voice is much quieter, you feel so small. Involuntarily shrinking away to shield yourself from what is coming. “I hate you”

There is an uncomfortable silence and his face is not blurry anymore - it is the only thing you can see right now. There is no slap, which is worse, silence is much scarier than a reaction cause you need to know what is going on in his head. You should have stayed silent instead, maybe Leon was right - you can’t stop but back talk and try to get yourself into trouble. You got yourself into this, not him.

Maybe an apology… wouldn’t it be late? Would it save? God, you MESSED this up. There is no way back.

His eyebrows furrowed, looking down at you with a clear discontent painting on his face, his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks - uncomfortably keeping you still. This time being pretty and batting your eyelashes like a dumb doll is not going to save you.

“You are so spoiled. No one likes ungrateful bitches like you” Leon shakes his head, not giving a space to you to talk back again. “I buy you pretty things, I spend my time and money on you… and you repay me like that?”

He tilts your head, the grip is bruising, almost. Leon doesn’t give you flowers, but bruises look like them quite enough. His words hit you like a slap, making you feel like there is something tremendously wrong with you, not with him.

“Is it so hard to play nice and stay pretty for me?” He adds with a raised eyebrow. His thumb caresses your lower lip, playing and tugging it down, before pushing the digit past your soft and tender lips.

“And quiet.” He tsked, feeling warm saliva clinging to his thumb as it pressed down onto your tongue. Lucky for Leon, one of his wishes is accomplished - you can’t really talk, only muffled words, while your mouth is occupied with his digit. He keeps the grip on your jaw, before replacing it with two fingers. Pointer and middle finger. You are so pretty when you keep your mouth shut or around his fingers. Or dick. The latter is much preferable.

Your mouth is always warm, inviting, and wet. Hard to hide how such act affects you, your breathing catches in your chest, as his fingers keep rubbing the front of your tongue - messy and slick, not wetter than your cunt right now. Your mouth can not be compared to your pussy though, it has much more pros than disadvantages, the only con is the lack of wetness sometimes. Not something unfixable at the end of the day, a spit or lube (if he is in a good mood) can fix anything.

Your eyes are closed, feeling his other hand keeping your head pointed up where he can see you. To be honest, you don’t really know if you are just trying to illude yourself and hide from the truth - both options are useless, they bring you back to him. Every time his fingers are in your mouth, keeping you quiet and forcing you to suck on them - your pussy gets wet quickly like it is connected to your throat. His fingers delve deeper, moving in and out slowly. You can’t help yourself. Your clit throbs uncomfortably, urging you to do something about this, and your inner walls flutter around nothing - your mind reminds you of how good his dick feels. You probably look so pitiful to him, your eyes reflect well what your body begs for while drooling around his fingers.

Your thighs try to snap close, to rub them together and get that sweet-sweet stimulation, but they end up straddling his hips tighter - feeling the outline of his hard cock press against the damp and thin material of your underwear. It isn’t a big obstacle right now, the burning heat can be felt easily. A choked whine escapes from your mouth, realizing that his pants are still on him.

“Uh-huh, you want my attention?” Leon asks, not trying to be subtle with his tone, laced with mocking sweetness. His fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop, leaving a trail of droll connecting you both. It is so empty without him filling your senses. His eyebrows curl up, glaring down on you like at kicked puppy. He mocks you, another squirming heat crawls in your cunt. Embarrassingly wet, dripping, and staining his jeans with your slick. God, you ARE getting off when he is being patronizing with you. “You ruined my day, baby. Do you really think you deserve anything right now?”

Your mind is screaming at you to do something, you need that relief. His cock. Anything that will fill the emptiness inside you with pleasure. You shiver when his fingers brush across the hem of your underwear, clearly amused by how wet you are. They push aside the fabric, already wet by your saliva - slowly stroking your drenching folds. So warm and puffy, even the light touch of his fingers on your clit makes your body jolt like you are in pain.

“Leon…” Your voice sounds cloying, it goes straight to his hard dick, as you look under your eyelashes at his face - it makes you feel dumb. Any sentences or words are thrown away into the bin under his glare, he doesn’t even try hard to make you feel like that, there is no need cause you are dumb. And you ache for his cock, ignoring alarms in your head. You are just a dumb, aching doll.

And his. He told you that.

“What?” Leon pressed, already withdrew his fingers from your cunt, wanting to see you more desperate. Your hips try to grind against his hard cock, to get a light stimulation. You stay silent, words aren’t enough to formulate what swirls in your mind. Somewhat, his presence and words are always tied to that deep feeling of owing him something. What? Not clear, but it is still here, even if his cock empties your mind.

You are still his after the dramatics you pulled, right?

You swallow hard, the sight of his unmoving hand on the belt makes your cunt painfully ache, ignoring your mind screaming at you to hit him. You don’t deserve this, it whispers. The guilty part of your brain won a long time ago, it overwhelms that soothing reminder - canceling it completely - you need to hurry up him. You are at fault, it whispers. “…Please…” Forgive me, I need you.

You gasp as in rasp motion he changes your position, shoving you and you end up with your back pressed down flatly on the soft material of the couch, while Leon hovers over you. And he kisses your forehead, with the same tenderness and affection he has given you before - like a couple, married couple on honeymoon. Your mind misses the bullseye with this conclusion, but whatever helps, right? The spot burns hot, as a reminder that you have to please him.

Clink-clink! It snaps you out of your thoughts. The sound of his belt makes your skin crawl, and more slick pools in between your thighs like at the unvoiced command. You try to buck your hips up, only to end up restrained by his hand - it grips tightly your flesh, in a bruising hold, and the signs will bloom into another purplish collection in the morning. His hand pins your hips down, - silently denying the control over your pleasure. Couldn’t be even wetter at this point.

It isn’t really visible, but his breathless sigh signaled you that his hand is, probably, wrapped around his cock. You squirm, to prop yourself to look down and maybe get comfier - again, he pushes you down with a head shake.

Your legs shake when his cock presses up in between your drenching folds, the slick clings to the skin, and his cock head nudges against your aching clit. And this hits so good too, his hard cock slides across your cunt. You can’t help but let your hips buck up back, again - to get your own control on the pleasure. Tsk. Your attempt gets easily interrupted again, as his hand pushes your hips down. His cock gets harder after every slow and agonizing rut, the wet sounds of your slick pressing and smearing his cock is like music to his ears. No wonder it is so easy to get lost, thank god your attempts to worm out of his grip snap him out of that pleasure.

You are so impatient. But for Leon, sex is so much simpler, cause he is a simple man. With age many things change, they get uncomplicated. Of course, Leon likes good stuff; tasty good, keeping you pretty, watching how your tits bounce with every thrust and feeling your flesh under his hands, how you react to him. But the sex isn’t the lovemaking or a way to satisfy you, for him, it would be useless to keep you here then. There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is so close to lose touch with after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. Life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Every time he sees you so confused, depending on him - he can’t lie, it makes his cock jolt. He wants to see every little expression on your face, - desperation, affection, confusion, misery, everything - to etch the sight into his memory.

“Baby, you don’t know what’s good for you..” Leon says, there is no answer from you and he doesn’t really need one. His eyes are focused on his cock nudging your hole before slowly pressing in - now watching your spasming and drenching hole swallows his cock. And you gasp.

Without fingers, without any preparation, but wet as hell, you still feel tight as sin. It is easier to get through though. The velvet softness of your fluttering cunt is addicting as your walls clench around him in a vice grip with every inch pushed inside.

It is dizzying how your mind empties together with your body, any remains of conflict regarding this situation is gone. Focusing on how his cock stretches your walls, leaving you breathless and trembling at the slow-filling sensation in your cunt. Your hands creep to rest on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

His cock pushes through, until its tip presses against your cervix - he is deep inside, his hips nestled right against your ass - and your pussy is so overwhelmingly full, for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

“That’s okay” Leon cooed again. His hand brushes across the skin of your collarbone, caressing it. Burns and you are hot, to the point his touch felt cold. You shiver, his hand is always pleasant to feel, but at the same, the feeling of it is accompanied by something else, you can’t ever catch it. It is brief but always gives you awareness.

Your chest rises up and down unsteadily, looking probably pathetic right now as his hips start moving. Already overwhelmed without a way out.

“Awww, you are just a dumb thing, not knowing anything better” Leon drawls with an amused smirk.

The pace is set, rhythmically rocking against you, using your cunt like a toy. You want to roll your own hips back, to do something but today isn’t your day. You already forgot about your earlier lash-out, as the only sounds reaching your ears are flesh-hitting ones mixed with your moans. His lips are parted on a soft stream of pants.

“N-no..” This attempt of protest slips out easily from your mouth, without giving too much thought into what may happen. Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. His hand creeps higher, to rest on your neck in a loose grip, a silent warning perhaps. Pretty faces don’t need to do anything other than being pretty, but tonight you let your mouth slip out too often.

The hand on your hip pushes it down again, the grip hurts actually. Feels like there are already bruises forming and he is clearly not pleased with you. He isn’t at all, your comments ruin his fun. They distract him from your tight pussy, how hot it is, and engulf him, begging him to thrust ruthlessly and fill you.

Unspoken rule, you should be silent and let him use your cunt without other noises than incoherent moans.

“Oh, no-no” Leon mocks you, a sharp, unexpected thrust, his cock head grinds against your cervix. To punctuate his words his grip on your throat tightens. Or you are imagining this? Another thrust, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hips start dragging his cock out of you, then he pushes it back deep inside. “I know what’s better for you.”

Every deep thrust into your spasming cunt, your thighs shake, and muscles in your body flex every time your hips connect. And his hand squeezes your throat, you can clearly feel the outlines of his fingers on the skin of your throat. God, is the grip getting tighter? Is he trying to cut the air? This fills your body with panic; it writhes even more, ignoring the painful grip on your hip and becoming more aware of the one that’s getting tighter around your neck.

Yeah, he is angry at you.

“Doll, you brought this… on yourself” Leon whispers breathlessly, watching your expression twist with a mix of pleasure and fear. Your hands travel from his shoulders to his wrist, nails dig into its flesh. “don’t resist”

His hand angles your hip better, losing the rhythm of the pace as his cock pounds into you in quick and deep thrusts. It hits your g-spot too, but the lack of air is the biggest of your worries right now. Your cunt flutters, getting tighter with the less air incoming, and more tingly wave of sensation rides over your body. The tips of your fingers feel weird, and your entire body starts to drown in numbness. It is weirdly pleasant but at the same time scary. Deep down you like it, not realizing it.

“Come on,” Leon grunts, his grip on your neck doesn’t lessen, and you try to focus on something else other than the possibility of passing out. Your walls clench around his dick tighter, and your mouth opens uselessly as a dumb fish trying to speak, but the only sound coming out is a muffled one.

“If you are so smart… fuck…” He moans, you feel so good, your walls clenched tight around his dragging cock and your body is so easily letting him use your pussy. He can get drunk on it. “…use your big mouth”

His grip tightens, and another choked moan tries to drawl out of your mouth. Nothing comes out other than a quiet, pathetic mewl. It feels like you are going to die.

“Use your filthy and smart mouth” He taunts again, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. His hips thrust into you in rough and hard movements. It feels like just his presence is overfilling you. Maybe the lack of oxygen is to blame. “or you can only use it for my dick.. huh? Like a whore, not a doll”

“A…m, S-s” I am sorry. You try your best, but it is hard to do multitasking when your head is so lightheaded and his dick inside you feels so good. Your body feels numb like it doesn’t belong to you anymore, writhing and squirming every time his cockhead hit your cervix - a pang of tingling mixture, something so new and pleasurable, but at the same time foreign, with the hint of pain. But it is a delicious kind of hurt, toe-curling one.

You are going to pass out, trying to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth and your nails dig into the skin of his bicep - begging, unawarely your eyes sprinkle with tears. “S-..sor-r—” This is your best attempt.

Orgasm has always been different with him, it is warm, still keeping your turmoil. This time it is crushing, but feels shorter than it was actually. It hits your body unexpectedly, filling to the brim with the feeling of his cock spouting cum inside you, while every patch of your skin is numb and burning hot.

Confusing your mind more when his hand slipped away, so close to pass out and the quick rush of air fills your lungs almost choking you, overwhelming the pleasure of your own orgasm. You are so sensitive, at the brink of tears - not having any strength to keep them in, they easily well in your eyes, blurring even more the vision before rolling down. It doesn’t hit like it should cause you are too focused on the fading numbness and shaking while inhaling the air - unreasonably afraid(to Leon) that he is going to take it away again. Breathing feels much better than sex, right now at least.

He pulls out his dick, and his cum slowly oozes out of your hole, while you are still recovering. Not hiding where his gaze is directed. It is hypnotizing, urging him to shove it back into you with his fingers and keep his cum inside you for a little bit longer. You snap him out of this trance with your sobbing and incoherent words.

“I am so—sorry!” You sob, tugging onto the fabric of his black shirt to pull him closer to you. Seeking comfort in him, you don’t have any other options. He can’t deny this to you, his arm wraps around your shoulders. And even if you had other choices, still you would crawl back to Leon. “I was mistaken… I am so-so sorry. It was a mistake!”

God, you shake like a leaf right now. He huffs as if your words were the most obvious thing. Like the sky is blue or two plus two is four. It is hard to push you away, the trembling and teared-up mess. Leon enjoys that.

“There you are, baby. I got it” Leon sighs, the crease in between his eyebrows deepens. His hand brushes away your hair from your face, to get a better glance of your state. Mistake. Everything is a mistake here - your presence, getting off only of him, texting him first, and letting him take you on dates. Leon can’t help, but chuckle. “Of course. Indeed a mistake, doll”

[ltgubler]

Don't let them find out. [lew einstein]

pairing: lew einstein x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: +18, professor x college student.

warnings: public display of affection, fingering in public, oral sex.

Thursday night at the library, again. Nose buried in your books, no date, no friends, just homework to do and straight A’s to get, same as always since you got into college. Everyone says that you’re just… smart, a nerd probably, but you’re not very social for your own reasons, and between studying and working to pay your tuition, you had no time to go out and experience the college life of a regular girl.

It was a slow night, not many people at the building, but that was better for you, you needed the silence. As you left your things at the table, you went to find a book you needed for an assignment, you searched everywhere, getting to the secluded section known as the “make out section”. And of course, you were the one to catch Professor Einstein humping his latest hook-up on the hallways of the library.

When you saw the girl walking away with teary eyes, blushed cheeks and messy hair, you noticed he saw you there, standing awkwardly, and honestly, a bit disgusted.

“Very classy, don’t you think?” The sarcasm in your voice made him stop on his tracks as he tried to walk away.

“Excuse me?” he looked at you for maybe the first time ever. He noticed your big brown eyes, too judgemental considering how angelic your face looked. “You’re one of my students, aren’t you?” There was a sudden glimpse of amusement creeping in his eyes. “You know… It’s very rude to get your nose in other people’s business.” His comment made you scoff, rolling your eyes, your annoyance awakening something in him.

“Me? Rude?” Your sarcastic tone amused him. “Rude is sticking your tongue in your students’ mouths, especially on campus, but who am I to judge, right?” He laughed at how mean you sounded.

“Oh I'm sticking more than just my tongue.” The repulsion on your face made him laugh. “I’m messing with you. But hey, maybe you can be next, if you're interested.”

A blush creeped on your cheeks, you were too stunned to even say something, and with a pat on your shoulder he walked away, leaving you standing there astonished and… intrigued. His words stayed on your mind for longer than you'd care to admit, not being able to focus as you went back to work on your assignment, laying in front of you as you sat there on that empty table in the silent library.

————

Days passed by and his words were still stuck in your head. *Did he mean that? Was he seriously implying that I could be that easy to get? I’m not an easy girl, right? Well, I don’t really know if I am, no one ever wanted me in that… way.* You shake your head to forget the thought, your own mind getting way ahead of itself.

Around noon you had your second class of the day, his class, and the idea of seeing him after the other night, looking at him in the eyes without making a fool of yourself, felt absurd. A simple sentence had you on edge for days, and being flirty was his normal self, maybe he even forgot about your minor encounter.

“Good morning class, how are we today?” His voice interrupted the murmur of your classmates, getting everyone's attention. His eyes roamed over the room, something he never did before. When he saw your face in the back of the classroom, his gaze lingered over you for a second too long, and pretending he wasn't looking for you, he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Today is chapter… 6, open your books, your notes, your computers, whatever you have.”

His way of teaching –of interacting with the student body– was fun but effective, something that you picked up since his first class, but now you started to really pay attention to his mannerisms. The way he moved around the classroom, smoothly checking up on everyone, cracking a few jokes here and there, attentive to what was going on around him at all times. From afar he felt your eyes on him, and every few minutes, like clockwork, his own gaze met yours for a second or two. Each time his eyes met yours you weren't able to hold his gaze, looking away every single time. He held back from smiling each time he saw the nervous way you looked away.

The class came to an end and everyone started to leave, you gathered your things and as you started to walk towards the door, he said your name, making every set of eyes in that half full classroom set on you.

“_____, don’t go just yet.” He said without even raising his gaze, leaning over his desk as he read some paperwork. “The rest of you can leave, keep walking people, see you next week if you don’t drop out. I’m joking, don’t drop out.”

Everyone walked away with a smile on their faces, that was the effect he had on his students, a sense of camaraderie no other professor had.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Einstein?” your voice made him look up again, you could feel your own breath getting caught in your throat. When finally the last student left the classroom, he took a breath before speaking, with a smile that could melt anyone, and it surely melted you. “If this is about the other day…” He interrupted before you could finish your sentence.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not gonna apologize or anything. Well, I am gonna apologize for lustful behavior on campus premises, but not about what I was doing exactly.” You rolled your eyes without even realizing. “Ah, that roll of eyes… You shouldn’t do it that much, don't get me wrong, you have beautiful eyes, you could use them to your advantage” Your cheeks were turning red as he kept talking “I know they would work on me.” He confessed in whispers, wanting for you to hear it, but he wouldn’t dare to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard before being able to speak again, he noticed the blush in your cheeks, and the nervous way you were standing in front of him. “Okay, is… Is that it?” he was taken aback by your question, figuring that maybe you weren’t interested in him the way he was about you. “I have other classes today, so…” your words hung in the air for a little longer than expected, while he searched in your eyes for even a glimpse of wanting, of yearning.

“Sure, you’re a very dedicated student.” He straightened up, his tall figure taking your breath away. He noticed the way your gaze dropped to his body, instantly going back to his face, almost if you were afraid to look, to check him up. “See you next week, ____.”

—————

The promise of seeing him next week was broken when you, like never before, went out to a bar with the only two friends you had in college. The place was packed, with barely any room to walk in. Squeezing into the crowd the three of you spotted a table that was just getting available, your friend ran at an amazing speed to get it, pushing away a drunk guy that had the same mission as her. Once settled you took the first trip to the bar, picking mojitos as the first drink of the night.

The music, the alcohol, the lights, the gossip and laughter with your friends, everything felt intoxicating, all your senses were wrecked already, and when some guy took your hand to dance with you, you went with it without hesitation. As he held you by the hips, moving in sync with you and the music, you let yourself get loose for the first time in ages. This guy tried to get further, his lips grazing over your neck, and that repulsed you. Before he could even protest you were back with your friends, and he walked away with a pout on his face.

“Can you believe that guy?” you scoffed as you sipped your drink.

“Men are pigs.” your friend said and the three laughed. “But talking about men… There's a very popular professor over there that couldn't look away from you and that guy…” she said as she pointed surreptitiously to a booth behind her.

“What? Who?” you followed the direction of her finger, and sitting at the booth, there was him, drinking with two friends. “Oh, hell no, I just made a fool of myself in front of him?”

The deep shade of red that covered your face was even more embarrassing than the show you put on in front of your professor. He raised his beer with a cheeky smile, letting you know that he was, in fact, absolutely entertained by you. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, the way his glasses sat flawlessly on the bridge of his perfect nose, the way his curls fell messy and wild on the top of his head, his rosy lips that grinned at you, and God, that smile…

“Girl, focus, get back to us” Your friend snapped her finger in your face, awakening you from your trance. “You should go talk to him, bag him, for shit and giggles you know?” your eyes widened at your friend's words, but you were seriously considering it.

“Should I, shouldn't I?” you mumbled, your eyes every few seconds going back to him, magnetic.

“Go!” they both said in unison and laughed, almost pushing you in his direction. As you walked to his booth, his friends magically went away to get more drinks, mysteriously leaving him alone.

“What a nice surprise.” he smiled and invited you to sit next to him. He watched you intently as you nervously sat there, your eyes going back between him and your friends that giggled from afar. “I thought of you more like a bookworm, this is different coming from you.” His words hung in the air for a second.

“Well, you don't know me that well, professor.” He smiled, looking down when you called him that outside the classroom.

“I guess not. You're a party girl now?” His mocking tone got a reaction from you, that goddamn roll of eyes, making his heart skip a beat. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I'm whatever you want me to be.” Your blunt confession made him short-circuit, but even when you said that, you couldn't hold his gaze, and he found that endearing, and extremely captivating. He boosted himself closer to you, his leg pressing against yours.

“Why's that? What makes you think I want you that way?” His hand dropped from the top of the table to your thigh, resting there, cold against your warm skin. You didn't answer. “You already have the perfect grades, the perfect reputation… What’s in it for you?” He kept pushing to know what was on your mind.

“how do you know about my grades and reputation?” you finally looked at him, pure curiosity in those breathtaking eyes, he was going crazy getting lost in them. He shook his head slightly before speaking again.

“I did some digging, not because I'm interested,” he paused, “but let's say I am… interested.” His fingers on your thigh moved in their place, lazily caressing your skin.

Your eyes dropped to his hand, and back to his face. The proximity made you feel drunk, more drunk than any mojito could get you. The mix of beer and his perfume ignited something in you. “About your question… What's in it for me? You.” your words take him by surprise, he narrowed his eyes at your response.

“Like I'm a trophy for you to get? A land to concord?” He asked as he laughed, his hand lightly squeezed your flesh. He knew exactly what he was doing to you with his touch, with all those questions, with his closeness, and you let him do it.

“Does that bother you? That I want you…” you looked around to make sure no one could hear you. “... just to fuck?” He smiled, shaking his head.

“Considering that I want you for the same purposes, no, it doesn’t bother me at all.” His tone was getting lower, and his hand on your thigh was going higher. His fingers hid under the hem of your skirt, closer and closer to where he wanted to be, where he craved to be.

“Here?” you asked in a barely hearable whisper. He smiled, amused.

“Here what, darling?” He asked with an innocent tone, while his hand squeezed your inner thigh. “Use your words… Do you want me to start here? On this bar where anyone can see us?” Your eyes darted towards the crowd out there, no one was paying attention to you two in that dark booth.

“Y-yes.” you mumbled and he pulled your underwear to the side, but not touching you just yet. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He was drunk in your desperation.

“Oh no, you can be loud, you can moan and whimper, the music is gonna muffle your cries.” as the words rolled down his tongue, his middle finger started to play with you, so slowly it felt like a punishment. “Are you this wet because of me?”

“Can you blame me?” you smiled with a ragged breath. Two of his fingers were now playing with you, touching you in gentle and soft circles, with the perfect pressure to make you squirm under his touch.

“You're so pretty, letting me feel you, taste you.” With that, he pushed those two fingers inside, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop your moans. “That's it, let me take care of you, you deserve it, don't you?” His hand picked up pace, his finger slightly curled up, like he knows exactly what to do, exactly how you like it. You were overstimulated, the music, the voices, his movements, his praising, the alcohol… A build up of emotions that made you melt against your seat, with him moving his fingers almost all the way out, just to push them deeper, making you lose your mind. The way he was controlling your body with just two fingers, not even a kiss and he already knew how to make you whimper and cry. “Let go for me, darling, don't hold back.”

A high pitched moan rasped your throat as you came undone in his hand, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting forward to meet his touch. “Oh, fuck me…” you breathed out, cursing, your orgasm washing over you.

“Good girl.” he smiled and withdrew his fingers. “And yes, I'm planning to fuck you if you'll have me.” he had a winning smile on his face that made you chuckle, and once again you rolled your eyes. “Stop doing that… I get hard every time you do it.” he confessed as he cleaned the residues of your orgasm with a napkin.

“I'm definitely gonna do it more often, especially considering how much you annoy me.” his eyes shined with amusement at your words, making him laugh.

“Let's get out of here, what do you say?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. “Here's too crowded, there's too much noise, and I deserve to hear you without any ambient sound.” He took your hand in his, fingers entwined. “Don't make me beg, because I will, I'm great at it.”

“Fine, okay, I'll go.”

With excitement he stood up and pulled you out of that booth and out that bar, forgetting about his friends and you forgetting about yours. The cold autumn night chilled your bones the second you stood in the street and he noticed how you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. Without saying a word he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to keep you warm. With a shy “thank you” you wrapped your arm around his waist, letting him guide you to his apartment. Once in his building he led you up the stairs to his flat, opening the door for you.

“What a gentleman, Professor Einstein, I didn’t think you had it in you.” your little tease made him laugh. He closed the door and walked straight to you, towering over you. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed you by the chin, making you look up at him.

“That’s mean, I am a gentleman, do you want me to prove myself?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against your cold skin. “Because I wouldn’t mind proving myself to you.” His lips grazed over your cheek. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Go ahead then, Professor.” You whispered, trying hard to not sound too eager. He smiled before finally giving in to the need to kiss you. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, tasting you for the first time, drawing in the soft sensation of your lips. He buried his hand in your hair, holding you impossibly close, his other hand pulled up your top just a bit for his hand to rest on top of your skin.

His kisses grow more desperate, needy, starting to feel like a drug, a fix you're gonna come back to over and over, addicted to the taste of his lips. A whine escaped your lips the second he stopped kissing you, his mouth trailed up your jawline -leaving a bite here and there, he wasn’t able to resist- and down your neck, getting from you sweet and soft little moans on his wake.

“I like the way you keep calling me Professor…” His voice was muffled by the closeness of his mouth on your neck. The heat of his breath brushing against your skin was intoxicating.

“Oh, so all this is to feed your ego?” The implications of your question plus your heavy breathing made him chuckle. “Is it a power thing? You're capable of ruining my life, is that it?” Your feisty tone only fueled him further, getting him even more worked up.

“Maybe it is, but doesn't that turn you on a little? That your reputation depends on how I feel about you?” His voice was a low murmur, an agonic reminder that –in fact– it did turn you on, his proximity making your heart jump out of your chest.

“It 's scary…” you confessed, slightly throwing your head to the side. His eyes dropped to your pulse point, he wasn't even able to focus on what you were saying. He pulled back a little to meet your eyes, his fingers firmly yet delicately grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“It is. Scary, I mean. But you like it, _____. Don't you?” As the words rolled down his mouth, his thumb traced over your bottom lip. “The adrenaline, the fear of getting caught.”

He kissed you again, more desperate than before, yearning to take you further, to make you his, to dive and get lost in you. Without breaking the kiss he led you to his bedroom, in the way he bumped with every piece of furniture he had, making you giggle between kisses.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped right beside his bed, he let go of your lips to look you in the eyes, searching for even a glimpse of regret, anything that could make him stop in a heartbeat, but all he found was the same desire he felt. His hands trailed from your hips to your waist, his touch delicate, reverent. Hooking his fingers on the hem of your top, he pulled the piece of fabric up your head, throwing it on his hardwood floor, you mimicked his action, taking off his shirt. His eyes dropped to your bare chest, almost drooling at the sight. With gentle touch he cupped your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples. You watched his every move, letting him explore you.

“You are…” he started to say, kissing your neck, going down your collarbone. He knelt in front of you, his breath hot against the delicate skin of your chest. “... so goddamn beautiful.”

His lips trapped one of your nipples, his tongue circling around it, he smiled at the sound of your moan. After a few minutes he kept going down, trailing a path of hot wet kisses down your stomach. He pulled down your skirt, his lips stopping at the edge of your underwear.

“This seems like the perfect moment to ask if you want me to keep going.” He looked up with a cheeky smile, messing with you. “Do you want me to keep going, ___?” He caught you so off guard that it made you laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” At the sight of you rolling your eyes at him again, he took your words as a dare and with a laugh of his own, he threw you on top of his bed, kneeling between your thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, while he, with ease, removed the last piece of clothing you had on. With his eyes fixed on you and your reaction, he started to kiss up your thigh, sloppy, wet, hungry kisses, and when he finally got to where you wanted him the most, it felt incredible. His tongue moved with expertise, he knew exactly where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck. He took his time to please you, your moans and whines only fueling him further, it was music for his ears, the only thing he wanted to hear tonight.

He noticed your body tensing up, the way you squirmed under his mouth, how your legs wanted to shut close, squeezing his head. He knew how close you were, but he wasn’t gonna let it happen. “Not yet, darling.” he whispered from down there, grinning as you pouted.

He got up from the floor, and as you looked at him with pleading eyes, he took his time to remove his pants, making you more desperate. His boxers were tight, his erection throbbing for you and only you. He removed and kicked them somewhere in his bedroom. His hand stroked his cock as he moved closer, his hips fitting perfectly between your thighs.

“Is this what you want?” he asked with a low murmur, teasing you with the tip. You had no words, nothing came out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. “Use your words, ____.”

“I want it, please.” your shaky whimper almost made him growl.

The sight of you, naked on his bed, with your hair spread all over his sheets, with those big desperate eyes. His self control was slipping, and when you cried for him, he lost the last bit of restraint he had. After aligning himself, he slowly thrusted forward, burying himself in you. He held himself up with a hand next to your head, reaching down to kiss you as you adjusted yourself to him. He took a second, enjoying the way you felt before starting moving, thrusting at a slow pace to not hurt you.

“I’m not gonna break, Lew.” you whispered against his lips, making him smile.

“I know… I’m just enjoying how good you feel right now.” His lips landed on your neck as he moved painfully slowly, making you squirm under him for more. “You are so eager, aren't you?” he chuckled against your skin and pulled it almost all the way out, just to thrust back in even deeper, setting a new pace, less gentle, more primal.

Your moans echoed on the walls of his room, your nails digging on his back as he took care of you like no one ever did before. His movements became more erratic, his hips slapping against you, the sound of skin on skin flooded your senses, his own low moans and groans each time he thrusted deeper took you to the edge of release. His fingers found your clit as he kept moving, the overstimulation was way too much for you to handle.

“Be a good girl and let go for me.” A loud, animalistic cry tore up your throat as you climaxed. The feeling of you twitching and shaking around him -plus the sound that came out of you- was all he needed to get lost in you, feeling his own orgasm wash over him, he pulled out quickly, relieving himself all over your stomach.

He fell to your side on the bed, his body covered in sweat as he breathed heavily. You both laid there for a while, until your heartbeats got back to normal. He stood up and took you with him, guiding you to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The warm water relaxed you, no words were needed now, his actions spoke louder than anything he could say. With tenderness he shampooed your hair, washed you and himself, and once he was done, he wrapped you in his bathrobe, kissing your forehead.

Taking you back to his bedroom, he helped you get settled in, and he lay next to you. You rested your head on his chest, his fingers caressed the soft skin of your back.

“How can this not affect you at all?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What do you mean?” he sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“Being with your students, knowing you can lose your job, your reputation.” you looked up at him. “Aren’t you afraid someone is gonna betray your trust?”

“Are you gonna betray my trust?” he didn’t respond to your question, you shook your head saying no. “Then I’m not scared.”

“That’s not really an answer…” your whisper got him all tense.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, ____.” his tone -that moments ago was sweet and gentle- was now sharp and cold.

“Okay, I’m sorry I asked.” you tried to pull back, thinking you did something wrong, but he pulled you back against him.

“No, I’m sorry, your curiosity is valid.” He said as he hugged you, burying his nose on your hair. “I’m not scared of it because all the parties involved have something to lose, not just me, you know?”

“I guess you’re right…” you whispered and yawned, your eyelids falling heavy, your breath getting softer.

“Let’s get some sleep, darling. And if you want we can keep talking about this in the morning, what do you say?” When he got no answer for you, he knew you were already gone to the land of dreams.

______________________

The smell of coffee and the soft sound of music woke you up, it took you a second to recognize where you were, and the flashback of last night came to you in a blur. You got up and walked to the kitchen, his apartment looked so different in the morning light, it had a midcentury vibe, mismatched furniture, a lot of art on his walls, it even surprised you a little.

“Good morning.” your voice distracted him as he was making eggs.

“Hey, I didn’t want to wake you up, you are a very peaceful sleeper.” He looked at you from over his shoulder, his hair was messy, his skin glowed in the morning light.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but thank you?” you chuckled and walked to him, standing beside him, leaning on the kitchen counter.

You observed his mannerisms, watching him move with ease, like he was in his element when he was at home, and it warmed your heart that he let you see this part of him, but that also made you wonder.

“I bet you bring all your dates to your apartment.” your tone was playful, but deep down you wanted more information.

“Uhm, no, not really.” His words were not what you expected. “I don’t really like bringing people back here, it’s my space, and I like to preserve my peace.”

“Then what am I doing here?” His eyes didn’t look at you, like he was shy all of the sudden.

“It felt different with you.” He just said, no explanation, no excuses, nothing. “I just went with my gut.”

You went silent for a second, doubting if he was even telling the truth. “So maybe this can happen again? You and me?” A little smile appeared on his lips, he seemed sincere.

“Don’t get your hopes up, ____.” He joked, calling you by your last name. “But yeah, I guess it can happen again.”

He got you in his kitchen giggling at his jokes, the knowledge that this was wrong sat at the back of your mind and before you even realized, the thing you had with your Professor turned into something more than just a one night stand. Every little gesture he had towards you made you fall deeper into the rabbit hole, you needed to remind yourself that this wasn’t love. This was wrong, you knew that, nothing that is meant to be hidden can be good. But it didn’t matter, there was no going back now.

hi hi hi :) i hope u like this one, or at least i hope u don't hate it lol. Since Lew Einstein doesn't exist yet I took some liberties with his personality, I see him as a good professor, dedicated (sometimes too dedicated with those he wants to f*ck), funny but firm, etc.

[celtrist]

This was a planned thing I had around the time I had this little rant (appreciate everyone who's bothered reading that thank you!)

Seeing as we have three canonically Asexual characters, I thought each of them having a different romantic orientation (and varying asexuality on the scale) would be fun and neat to show the variations to the orientations! But I was really stumped on Mammon since I was pretty set on Alastor and Octavia, but Mammon not being any form of aromantic didn't feel right, not terribly ooc, just definitely felt a bit more like "he's the leftovers" sort of thing when divvying up the romantic orientations. But lo and behold, the new episode of Helluva came out and helped solved that little quandrie. So here are my thoughts below on each!

Alastor (Loveless Aromantic) If you've seen my rant, you probably have a good idea why I labeled him as a "loveless aromantic" (meaning in this sense I'm talking about, he just wouldn't have any form of romantic affections or go into something like a QPR or the like). And I do genuinely think he would be! But I know there's A LOT of bias for Alastor NOT being aromantic (or at least open to some sort of relationship), and I will admit I might've been a bit biased here too! I've just seen a lot of love for only specific parts of the aro spectrum that "allows" Alastor to get with someone, and I wanted to give some love to the aro spectrum that gets little to no appreciation (plus I do just genuinely think he'd be this). If you don't agree, all is fair ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ The point is, I realize I'm probably in the minority here. Plus, it's all a guessing game more or less until something is officially stated, which probably will never happen for any of these three.

Anyway, like I said, I just don't see Alastor really getting as close to anyone even as a QPR. At the VERY LEAST, not in a QPR that has a lot of romantic parts to it (kissing on the lips, cuddling, etc.). My man wouldn't have any interest in marriage or anything romantic, he's very happy on his own and probably gossips about OTHER people's love lives. Then again, he seemed pretty close to cracking when he heard Charlie ranting about her own love life... With that said, I do think he DOES like the company of others, he's VERY social after all. But actually, getting intimate with someone? Mmm, that doesn't feel right for him to me. A kiss on the cheek or PERHAPS a cuddle here and there at most, but nothing like bathing with someone or kissing with tongue. He's also a man of the roaring twenties, so you KNOW how he thinks about intimacies that might have no romantic/sexual connotations by themselves (like bathing with someone) are romantic on their own just because being that close to someone was seen that way in his time. Plus again, I just don't think he'd be interested in that stuff as is (potentially he could be both touch-starved and touch-aversed. And oh boy, wouldn't that be a conundrum!) On one hand, I like and can see Alastor being sex-repulsed, on the other I can also see him just feeling nothing towards it. Considering Angel's "advances" in both the first episode and the pilot, he does have a bit of a strong reaction towards sex, but nothing crazy either. I can see him being lukewarm to the subject (so he could read a book or read a script out loud with sex in it), but he could be repulsed when it actually INVOLVES HIM. I can definitely see him somewhat annoyed with the subject for how everywhere it is though.

Octavia (QPR Aromantic) It's a little hard to pinpoint, but I can personally see Octavia getting into a close QPR sooner than Alastor, but maaayybe only be a hair. Octavia could possibly get into a platonic relationship with someone that would have remnants of seeming romantic. I do think she's probably the most sex-repulsed of the three, if in part because of her father's inclinations that he doesn't seem to hide even when she's around. Honestly, I feel like we still haven't seen enough of her to get a good grasp on this aspect of her character in if she would be interested in getting as close as to a QPR with someone. But I'd certainly like to think so, because damn does our girl need it. Her falling into some sort of relationship would probably be hard seeing as how her parents' relationship was so awful. So she could be hesitant about doing something like that.

Mammon He was the big toughy! And while his advances on Leviathan might have been meant in a more platonic way or just for show to go against Ozzy's and Bee's romantic relations, I'm going with what's there! So Mammon seems like he could be straight or bi/pan. But I don't have a hard grasp on which so I'm tossing that in the air. I don't think he'd be sex-repulsed just because of how "sex makes money". Like, there's no question that sex appeal is a big part of business even if something isn't even that sexual. So while I think he's not largely interested in doing anything sexual, I can see him being okay or even lukewarm to the subject, maybe just not getting the appeal entirely. Maaaayybe he's sex-favorable? Of the three I would imagine he would be the most likely to be sex-favorable, but I dunno.

I like the idea of Octavia being the only one aware as to what her orientations are. Alastor is... well he's Alastor, and Mammon doesn't seem like he'd be too interested in the details of things. Just that "there's straight, gay, and the between area".

[pomegranate-theater]

SACCHARINE / Sinbad

Summary: You’re tired of Sinbad’s constant advances towards you. Trying to outsmart him, you make a deal with him, thinking he’ll easily lose.

Contents: female reader / obsessive, manipulative and possessive Sinbad / story is slightly suggestive / slight gore mention (Sinbad is offering you his eye as a promise though he knows you’d never take it) / I’m not done with manga, so this is based on the anime version and some chapters. Word count: around 6,3k

With another sea creature being caught and slaughtered by Sinbad’s generals, it was time for another Maharagan festival of this year; with this, time to feed people of Sindria and reassure them they’re safe—even when surrounded by deadly sea. You had to admit that Sinbad’s idea was genius, even if it was also a show for tourists. Sindria was prosperous under this man’s guidance.

You, a very citizen of Sindria, loved to attend the ceremony and have fun with all the other people, drink, dance and eat to your heart’s content. The only issue was the presence of the king himself—despite your constant rejection towards his advances, Sinbad had never given up. No, your reluctance only drove his motivation, no matter how harassed and annoyed it might have made you feel. It was as if he saw it as a challenge, a game, though you could have often noticed his frustration as well, compelled by something bigger than lust.

You had him question himself a lot—if every other woman (maybe besides Yamuraiha, but she was his general so it didn’t count) was falling at his feet, blushing and giggling when being flirted with and flattered—how come were you this immune? Was there something wrong with him or you? Was he repulsive to you or was he just not your type? It was a constant dilemma he had, and a source of entertainment and annoyance for his generals, especially Ja’far.

Little did he know, it was simply a matter of having self respect and self awareness. You weren’t stupid, you had eyes and knew Sinbad was extremely handsome, intelligent and fun guy. What truly bothered you was his womanizing behavior. You didn’t want to give a chance to a man who’d only see you as another conquer, another woman on his list, another woman to play… and even if he ever would want to be committed with you, you doubted his ability to be loyal. You’d rather die than see Sinbad flirt with other women while being in relationship with you. You were sure, that he was sitting on his chair as usual, women on each of his legs and on his sides, all fighting who gets to touch their lord.

But Sinbad was so egoistic, he’d probably assume you’re just playing hard to get, or were into women. Because surely you have to be interested in your own gender, instead of simply not interested in him, when every woman was different. Sinbad wouldn’t accept the truth.

The fun you had with Yamuraiha, was quickly cut short, when you heard a voice that you grew to be displeased about, as if pavloved to react negatively. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Having fun, my ladies?” Sinbad’s voice was full of mellow, not at all unmotivated or offended when he saw your smile automatically die, just to be a stone cold face.

With you and Yam sitting by the table, one of many placed in the warm nightly outside, Sinbad seated himself right next to your friend. Of course he could have seated himself right next to you, but then he wouldn’t have such a pleasant view, of you in your pretty and somewhat revealing tunic. It was as if just sleeves’ mesh material was teasing him. Sinbad smiled at you, usual charm on his lips.

“We were, until you came along,” said Yamuraiha with a sigh. Being drunk, she was prone to complain more than usual, but you shared her sentiment. She knew what Sinbad’s presence meant—him trying to win you over again, something she didn’t wish to see. So she was standing up quickly. “I’d rather get a refill than see him hit on you again,” she said grumpily and was walking away already, leaving you alone with the king. “Yam, wait—” you clicked your tongue. Leaving you with Sinbad was so cruel of your friend. You looked at Sinbad, making him smile wider when he got your attention. Of course he’d take advantage of her departure.

“What do you want, Sinbad?” you finally asked with exasperation. Anyone else calling him by first name would be deemed as inappropriate, but it was Sinbad himself who told you to call him just that, the first time his female general introduced you to him as her old friend from Magnostadt academy, coming to Sindria to work for its palace. Of course, you refused this the first time, thinking it’s not in your place to speak so openly with a king. Yet with time and frustrations he put you through, you quickly forgot about being polite—give Sinbad an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“So rude, my lady. Can’t a man talk to the most beautiful woman at this festival?” he said with feigned dramatics, putting his hand at chest, before it was grabbing yours across the table. You tried to take it back, but his grip was tight, forcing you to hold his hand for a while until he decides he’s really crossing your boundary.

“I’m sure that’s what you tell every woman, and the logic says only for one it can be true,” you said bluntly, only making him chuckle. If you’d actually know, what he thinks of you, you’d be surprised. Sinbad had misconceptions about you, but it was mutual for both sides.

“Logically, objectively, I’m sure what I’m saying is nothing but true about you.” You noticed a little, pouty frown on his face when you didn’t react at his honest compliment. Women back at his seat, waiting for him obediently, yet impatiently, would surely eat up his words.

“It doesn’t change the fact you’d call every woman here beautiful,” you rebutted. Were you wrong? Most definitely not, but Sinbad actually loved bantering with you. At least, that’s what he saw your discussion as, if you were not so eager to talk to him. The way you always challenged him, the way you knew how to debunk his words, the way you didn’t give up, the way you said something so witty occasionally… you were very good at stimulating his intellect. You didn’t coddle him, you didn’t please him, you were fair and square. He was a king, he was a conqueror of the seven seas, but in moments like this, you made him feel like just Sinbad.

But he had to win you over eventually. Only then he’d be able to rest easily. He’d never admit it openly, but Sinbad was honestly obsessed with you. It wasn’t just some passing attraction, just pure lust towards your body. If anything, it was your person that got him this crazy. Sinbad loved all women, but arguably, he’d never met someone on your level, who saw right through him so easily, exposed him and made sure to play smart with him. You didn’t give unless you knew you’ll be rewarded. You were cruel enough to treat him like another person.

And his patience has been slowly falling away. Every free time of the day, hell, even during his work, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to hold you, to provoke you, to hear your mind, to make you spill pretty sounds as you’re under him… maybe even on top, if it floats your boat, your another challenge of putting him in his place.

Albeit, he was scared of being in love with you, and even more of baring himself for you.

“Y/N,” Sinbad suddenly said, after the uncomfortable silence with your hand in his. Hearing your name, you were about to answer, but your friend came to your rescue, even if it was for her drunk need of dancing with you. No matter how childish it was, you stuck out your tongue at him, especially fueled by alcohol in your bloodstream. Sinbad laughed, but when you were out of his sight, he sighed. He was about to ask you something, and Yamuraiha took you away from him.

“Someone’s being rejected again, it seems,” Ja’far teased from behind, as he found Sinbad in his usual spot whenever the festival happened—right where you were. He sat down right next to his king, and refilled his wine glass without having to be asked. He knew Sinbad better than anyone, even if the knowledge he carried is heavy on his heart sometimes.

“I’m not being rejected, she’s just playing hard to get with me,” Sinbad groaned, before gulping down an entire cup. Alcohol only made him more irritable, it was never good for him either, especially when he ended up in random women’s beds.

“Surely that’s right, Sin,” Ja’far said condescendingly. “Have you ever considered the fact that y/n is simply not interested in you and you’re only inconveniencing her?” The cold look Sinbad send Ja’far made him somewhat nervous, but he knew he had to push, for both yours and Sinbad’s sake. Even Sindria’s, as Sinbad couldn’t afford any distractions.

“You don’t understand, Ja’far. I won’t be able to rest, until I at least get a kiss from her… this woman is driving me crazy, but I am too deep in this mud to withdraw now,” he whined, and his coldness was now nothing but brattiness, a child who couldn’t get a candy before dinner, when he put his head on the wooden table, looking at Ja’far with lament. It was only so rare when Sinbad would reveal his true emotions like a moment ago; even more scary.

“What about how she feels?”

“She won’t have to deal with me annoying her anymore, if she just gives in,” Sinbad said as if it was an acceptable solution. “Thats not how it works, Sin. You can’t just wear her down until she says yes.”

Sinbad knew that, somewhat. He was just selfish, not wanting to give up on you. It doesn’t mean he’d mistreat you or anything. At this point, you can even ask to become his wife and queen of Sindria, if it’d mean you’re only his, and actually his. He didn’t want to marry before meeting you, but certain measures were necessary, it seemed to be the case with you. He’d spoil you to your heart’s content, especially when money was no issue for him. The only issue would be making you say yes.

“Then how do I win her over, fairly?” Sinbad asked seriously, knowing Ja’far had no answer. He was met with silence, as shorter man knew you’d rather go to jail than say yes to his king.

“Just let her be, Sin. It’s the time you finally accept your defeat.” His advisor’s words had the opposite effect. The tan man felt only more obliged to win your heart, and his quiet rage was back. “As if I ever could, Ja’far.”

“Sinbad, you seriously need to stop—” he was getting frustrated with his friend’s stubbornness, but then, something was up, when Sinbad was suddenly sitting up and looking into the groups of dancing people.

Sinbad heard your laughter. And as sensitive he became to noticing any changes with you after trying to win your affections for so long, he knew this laughter was worse than usual. It was way too sultry, and if it wasn’t directed towards him, it could have meant only one thing-some man was hitting on you.

His eyes were wide, and he was suddenly very aware of his surroundings, as if on the hunt. “Uh-oh,” Ja’far thought, as he spotted you first and knew what seeing you with another man can mean for Sinbad. No matter how much of a hypocrite it would make his lord, he knew Sinbad wouldn’t accept another man coming onto you. He flirted with other women, but that’s just the way he was, nothing special, so you weren’t allowed to be flirted with—that was Sin’s twisted logic. Ja’far knew you’d probably slap Sinbad if he said this to your face.

“Sinbad, wait—” Ja’far was begging to panic as he saw the king stand up from his seat. He didn’t want him to embarrass himself, to cause you trouble or spread some weird rumors with his behavior, one it’d be Ja’Far’s responsibility to clean. But Sinbad was like an animal, walking swiftly towards where you and some disgusting man were dancing, his hand on your waist.

Just a mere moment later, before you’d even notice notice Sinbad’s approach, you were already, suddenly, in his arms and few steps away from the man you were dancing with before. It was now his hand on your waist, other on your shoulder. The man having you before was confused as you disappeared so quickly, and couldn’t locate you in the storm of dancing couples. All thanks to Sinbad’s swiftness and cunningness, dragging you away from another man without raising up any scene.

“What the hell are you doing, S-” you started angrily, but he cut you off first, bringing you close to him, chest to chest, forcing your chin up. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked somewhat angrily, and you have never seen him in this state. You were even more confused. It was as if he thought you’re not allowed to talk to other men, while he can flirt with anything moving, and you weren’t even in relationship with him. You now were angry yourself. What an audacity, to think everything you do is about him, then accuse you!

You were about to slap him in the face, not so proper of you, but you felt somewhat justified after him constantly bothering you and now being controlling. Sinbad’s reflexes stopped you before you cut his cheek with your hand, but hurt and surprise flashed his eyes. Did you really hate him that much, that you’d try to hit him? He could have guessed, despite his big pride, that if you were reaching levels of violence with him, he must have pissed you off greatly. A mean and sharp comment is what he’d get at most normally, maybe you walking away too. But not a slap, especially if he was a king.

Holding your wrist in his hand, you wriggling with madness, Sinbad decided that you’d do better in somewhere more quiet, before you two would start yelling at each other and disturb everyone partying around you. With same wrist in his hand, he was dragging you away to the garden with a fountain of the palace, somewhere where you can have a private conversation. With the emotions coursing through his veins, he had to control his grip to not hurt you. Any protests and curses you were spilling, he was not answering before he’d have you away from this mess.

You were soon seated on the stone bench, surrounded by all kinds of plants covering you two from being caught. Sinbad stood in front of you, his arms crossed, making you feel vulnerable as his tall form towered over you. He was still silent, looking at you with an unclear to you emotion, and gathering his thoughts.

“Who was that?” he finally asked, frowning. Your annoyance grew. “And why would I tell you that? I’m allowed to speak to other men.”

Sinbad squeezed on his biceps. You had no idea how much your words provoked some sense of possessiveness in him. “You are,” he said through his teeth. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to care,” you said bluntly, momentarily making him laugh at your usual talk, though he quickly was heated again. “I don’t like the sight though. You always reject me, but the moment another man flirts with you, you’re in his arms. How is that fair?” he said gruffly. You rolled your eyes.

“Sinbad, it’s not meant to be fair. I don’t owe you any attraction. I can choose who I want. Not to mention what a hypocrite you are,” you said seriously. “How come you can flirt with other women, but say I can’t flirt with others? You’re so disgusting with it too, because at least I don’t flirt with him while flirting with you.” You always hated this. Sinbad chasing you, while flirting with multiple women. He wasn’t taking you seriously or showing you how much he wants you, if you received the same treatment. You weren’t special in any sense, if every woman and you heard same things from him.

You clearly hit the spot with your words. Sinbad was aware, that technically, you were right. But not everything was black and white, so his perception of the situation was warped. Yes, he flirted with other women, but it wasn’t as serious as with you, and it was just an old habit. While you, you flirted with people you actually were interested in; so not just anyone. That man, for all Sinbad knew, could have been your future husband, if everything would go well for you both.

But he noticed how much his hypocrisy displeased you, and if it bothered you so much, perhaps there was some truth to your words. How were you supposed to trust him, if his eyes are everywhere? Which didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated with you, or tired of the chase. At first it was just some game for him, a challenge to conquer that one elusive, unreachable for him woman. He’d catch you, then release you. But the more he had a chance to know you, it wasn’t a joke anymore. He was caught in your web before you and he knew it, and now every rejection felt like a small loss, not excitement to go further.

So, Sinbad felt resigned. If his usual methods didn’t work, and he was plenty of manipulative and cunning to win against anyone else, he’d reach the begging stage for you, if he had to. With a sigh, he squatted down, staying on one knee, lowering himself to your level. He grabbed your hand, once again not letting you go.

“If nothing I try is successful, then please, just tell me what will. Whatever it is that I need to prove myself worthy of you, I will,” Sinbad said with determination, though what truly threw you off was the sound of desperation in his tone. “Be honest with me.”

You blinked twice, wondering what was going on, and you had to admit, his words worked on you for a moment, even if mere. But then your mind reminded you of the same scene, just with a princess of Kou Empire. Back then, he was trying to manipulate young Kougyoku with same tactic, while never meaning his affection towards her. He was only taking advantage of her young naivety to get deals he wanted, just when you were taking a walk in same garden. The disgust you felt that day…

That’s why you might as well be his next victim. You were about to tell him there’s nothing that could make him a man you’d entrust your feelings and body with, until a sudden idea popped into your mind. You were plenty of smart yourself, and you just found something that could possibly keep Sinbad away from you permanently.

“There’s one thing you could try,” you said with a small smile, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “Really?” he asked with newfound enthusiasm. “What is it?”

“Prove it to me that you can be loyal. Stop flirting with anyone else than me. Don’t even look at them.”

When Sinbad looked taken back, you felt smug as hell. Surely, you’ve just given him a challenge that he could never win. No way he can let go of his old habits, something that started when he was just a teenager. “In fact, let’s make a deal,” you continued. “If you don’t flirt with anyone else for a month, I’ll give you a chance, we’ll go on a date. If you lose, you’ll never bother me again.”

Sinbad stayed still, his expression clearly troubled, as his head was stormed with thoughts. The question of whether he could do it, the question of how hard it’d be to stop, the question of if he’d even like this… but also, realizing how often he found himself comparing women he met with you, or the odd sense of dissatisfaction.

He had nothing to lose at this point. This was probably his only chance with you, and he couldn’t screw this up. “Deal,” he said seriously.

Hearing his words, you had to bite down a giggle. He’ll lose, and you finally will be free of his unwanted advances. You really had no trust in his self-control when it came to women.

☆

It was a first week of your given challenge that had passed. Of course, you weren’t able to be there all the time to check if Sinbad was either winning or losing, so you asked Ja’far to keep an eye on Sinbad for you. You were ready for his report, confirming that Sinbad indeed had lost.

Approaching Ja’far in his office, you were quick to ask.

“Sinbad? Surprisingly, I haven’t seen him flirt with anyone for past week. Not even when drunk. It seems he’s quite proud to want to win,” Ja’far admitted, leaving you rather shocked. But… what was a week if there were there were three more left? He has to get frustrated and starved enough eventually.

You didn’t see the look of worry and pity on Ja’far’s face when you were leaving his office. Once Sinbad gets his mind set on something, there’s no stopping. Ja’far was well aware how greedy and selfish his king could become with you, once he wins this bet.

☆

A second week, you’ve heard the same thing from Ja’far. Something you clearly couldn’t believe, starting to question Ja’far’s credibility. You knew he was a good man, but in the end, he would always take Sinbad’s side out of loyalty to him.

“You’re playing with me right now,” you said annoyed.

“I assure you I’m not, miss Y/N. Even if Sinbad would ask me to lie to you, in this case I wouldn’t. It’d be beneficial for his kingdom, if he was to lose this challenge,” Ja’far rebutted with seriousness. “His mind is everywhere these days, and I don’t want Lord Sinbad to stray away from work. Though, it is a pleasant change, to see him keep some decency for once.”

When you left Ja’far’s office, it was Sinbad you happened to run into.

He smiled cockily at you, knowing you couldn’t believe he didn’t lose yet. That he didn’t flirt with any woman. Not giving him a chance to speak, knowing what he wanted to say, you scoffed. “It doesn’t mean anything. I have no guarantee, you wouldn’t go back to your old habit once you win and I give you a chance.”

Of course the challenge you’d given to him, didn’t apply to just that one month. If you were to date him, you wouldn’t be fine with him flirting with other women then either. He’d have to stay this loyal, as you had some standards and boundaries. You didn’t want to be hurt because he was attracted to other women while being with you, or have to live in worry he might take it one step further one day.

But hearing your words, his smile died, replaced with solemnity. “You really have no faith in me, huh?”

“Don’t act like a victim, when you built this reputation for yourself,” you said sternly, and you turned around to leave.

You were right, of course. It was years of Sinbad and multiple countries working towards his infamous reputation. As he watched you go, despite your words biting right at his being, he felt even more determined to prove you wrong. He’ll show you, that he’s deadly serious about you, and soon, you’ll be in his arms, somewhere he’d never let you go from. There was no way in hell he’d ruin his only and last chance.

☆

When third week came, you were losing your mind. You couldn’t listen to Ja’far telling you that Sinbad is still not giving up for the third time. It was all suspicious, that someone who could have never controlled himself around women, was now suddenly a proper man, celibate and monogamous. Though his lack of harem always confused you. Any other king or prince had at least concubines. Maybe it was his need for equality within the world, since you heard about how often these women were slaves.

You weren’t believing Ja’far anymore, nor even your friend Yamuraiha who said she didn’t see anything. You were just paranoid at this point, living in uncertainty, so you had to take matters into your own hands. The plan you came up with, was to send some beautiful woman towards Sinbad, and spy from afar to see what he’ll do. You managed to find one of the female servants, one you knew was notoriously blushing near his presence, and send her to him, telling her Sinbad wanted a massage. The young woman, she was eager to go immediately.

You followed her, and hid behind the wall, as you watched her enter the lounging room where Sinbad was resting on the pillows, reading some documents. Servant had even lowered the line of her tunic, making sure her cleavage is bigger, before she was kneeling in front of him. “My lord, I’m here to give you a massage,” she said, batting her pretty eyes at him.

Sinbad looked up at her, surprised as he didn’t remember anything about making such request. You saw some eagerness on his face for a second, looking at the woman with intention, but oddly it was quickly replaced with something like a disappointment. You theorized what was going inside his head, to lose interest so easily and even more, why he’d look so beaten up over the flirt… but nothing made sense to you.

“A massage? No, I’m alright. You can finish your work for today, go rest,” he said politely to the girl, and looked back at his document, as if disinterested. He clearly embarrassed the girl, as she quickly left.

You were proven wrong, and it not only frustrated you, but shocked on another level. You barely managed to hide before she’d see you, and kept standing there in shock.

A half a minute later, Sinbad blew up your cover. “Are you going to stand there like a pervert?” he teased, knowing you’re right there behind the entrance in the wall. You revealed yourself, looking at him on the floor in dissatisfaction. “Was she not to your type or something?”

“Hm? No, I’m just not interested. I have all I need right here,” he said playfully, lazily tilting his head with a charming smile. He obviously meant you, and you didn’t like the rare twist of your stomach his words caused. You were also getting worried, as you had only a week left, before Sinbad would win and you’d owe him a date.

A date. Just a date. While you said that you’ll give him a chance, even if he wins this deal, of course he can easily ruin his won chance. As a result, you still will have a chance to reject him fully. Just one flirt with another woman while you’re dating, and you can say he ruined his only chance and leave.

“Don’t get cocky yet, Sinbad,” you said, filled with determination to prove him wrong eventually, and turned around to leave. Just one step into the exit, you were forced back onto his hard chest, and felt his strong arms envelop you like a snake. He moved way too fast. He then leaned into your ear, to whisper, “Soon. Just you wait, my lovely. No need to test me with other women.”

He smiled even more when he saw you storm away after you managed to free yourself from his grip, all annoyed at his physical affection. If only you could know what he thought when he saw that servant approach him. Yes, the woman was very pretty. But recently, nothing could have compared to you, and he started to think that you massaging him would be much better. Whether there was a more beautiful woman in the world or not, it was a whole lot of different stuff that made him want you. Until he no longer had as much fun flirting with other ladies as he used to.

You were making this challenge way too easy for him.

☆

You lost. Sinbad won. After a month, there was no documented moments of Sinbad flirting with anyone other than you, even more than before to your dislike, teasing you about your upcoming loss. You played yourself by yourself, falling into the trap of your own game.

In fact, your challenge had caused a chaos in the palace. Servants were wondering why Sinbad wasn’t hitting on them anymore, others were theorizing he must have gained some bodily disfunction, and the rest was conspiring he must have fell in love…the last one, it wasn’t hard to connect to you, considering you were the one he went after much more than once, constantly on the chase. With that, some stupid gossip you’re getting married and Sindria will have a queen or consort too.

You couldn’t have it. You couldn’t even eat that morning when a month had passed. After waking up, Ja’far brought you to Sinbad’s office, as he wanted to talk to you. You expected another one of cocky smiles of his, but instead, were met with joy and excitement when entering his office.

Sinbad stood up immediately, approaching you to pull out a chair for you. “There you are. We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” he asked positively and sat down back in his seat. And you felt embarrassed to admit you lost, though you were still holding to that chance he’ll lose when dating you. Despite, you felt as if you owed him that date, having some decorum to keep your promise. You nodded.

“Great. You know, I’m really happy I won, fair and square,” he started, a proud smile on his face. “No need to worry about your rejections anymore.” Your eye twitched. “You don’t need to worry about anything either, I promise you I won’t ruin this chance I fought for.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, killing his excitement a bit. But he was too invested now that he won, that his determination didn’t waver.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, accusingly.

“You might have lasted a month. But can you stay away from other women, for possibly many more?” you said seriously. You had to admit, that he positively surprised you with his win, that he had enough respect for you to restrain himself so much, that perhaps there was some affection for you he had. But you just didn’t want to give up your heart on the platter, for him to crush it like he did with some women.

Your concern didn’t surprise Sinbad. A month away from other women, he was given a lot time to think about you, and try to understand why you’re behaving this way, with some help from Ja’far. You weren’t actually playing hard to get. You were hard to get, because you didn’t want to be played by him. You were smart to be wary, and you saw through his manipulations better than other women, so your reasons for your constant rejections was simply you trying to protect yourself.

But you needed to understand he was serious about you. All these women he flirted with, it was to fill the void he couldn’t fill entirely. Yet you, you were enough to satisfy his emptiness’ hunger, until he now no longer can see a woman without thinking of you or comparing her to you. No one compared, and he was scared no one ever will, that he’ll have to exhaust you with his presence, and himself, with his obsession, for the rest of your lives. He’d never admit this, but one time, he hooked up with a woman that looked a lot like you, just to imagine it was you. Between choosing an ability to continue being a womanizer and having you, he’d choose you.

“I know I will,” he said with all seriousness and stood up from his desk. “For many reasons, but one of them is—I know you wouldn’t hesitate to reject me once more, if I was to flirt or lay with a woman again.”

He could have imagined this in his head, imagining you telling it’s over. He couldn’t have that, especially when he knew you were, unluckily for him, too strong willed to give him second chances or stay upon such disrespect.

And you had to admit he had a point. He got you there. You knew that already, of course, you just didn’t know he’d acknowledge this fact. You thought he’d assume he can make you so obsessed with him, that you’d stay even after hurting you like this.

“Still…” you were running out of excuses, but you held onto the last one in your mind. It was hard to think with him now standing in front of your chair, being oddly vulnerable and honest with you. For once, you knew he wasn’t hiding anything. You gulped. “Yes?” he asked softly. Stupid man, making you feel flustered.

“While it’s true you can stop yourself from flirting with other women… I don’t want you to do this just because it’s convenient. I wanted you to do this, because you wanted to, because you wanted to respect me and wanted me only. I also don’t want you to throw me away once you get bored.

Sinbad suddenly grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. You were surprised to hear his heart beating so fast, in something else than a lust. With you being a magician, a category of people taught to know a lot about human bodies, you were aware it was more like nervousness and affectionate arousal caused by being near someone you love. “Do you feel my heart beat for you?” You nodded, your hand trembling slightly. “I’ll admit the truth. At first, I was separating myself from my lust only to have you. But now, it only feels right. I don’t want anyone else, but you. I saw it as a game at first. Now I can’t sleep without you.”

His heart was so fast, you had hard time telling if he’s honest or not; albeit you felt as if he was telling the truth, when his eyes were slightly trembling upon new vulnerability, searching for your acceptance everywhere in yours.

Sinbad leaned close to your face, still holding your hand against his chest, his being nothing but determined. “And if you ever see me do otherwise, I’m giving you a permission to gouge my eye out, so I’ll never look at another woman with it again.” To make his point, he lifted your hand up, and placed it right across his left golden eye.

You gasped at his words, quickly snatching your hand back. He actually meant them, and the fact he’d go so far to promise you loyalty, you had no right to have any of your doubts left. He’d never go this far for anyone but you, yet at the same time, something about this scared you. Who would mutilate themselves, just to earn your love? A madman? Or just Sinbad?

“You’re an idiot, don’t you ever think of doing that, even if you end up lying to me!” you exclaimed with some panic, not wanting him to hurt himself over slight infidelity. Yeah, he bothered you in the past, but this would be a punishment too strict, and his people needed him healthy.

“I won’t,” he chuckled, feeling warm at your concern and satisfied by your slip up. You really weren’t taking his words as cautiously as you should this time, because he already knew you’d never take out his eyes, being safe from the start; so making this promise just to make you believe was easy. Yet he didn’t lie—the promise was real, and he really won’t look at other women again. He put your hand up again, right to his lips to kiss it, and this time, it didn’t feel repulsive like it used to be for you. “Since I won’t be breaking that promise.”

“You better be, though I wouldn’t let you do something so stupid,” you said, your voice regularly becoming less harsh with each proof of worth Sinbad had given you. He was winning you over, just like he wanted. Sinbad used to bring you more trouble than it was worth, but no man had ever, and you doubted any would ever come up with this, would go this far to have you. You sighed with feigned resignation. “With that, I owe you a chance, and I’m admitting my defeat. Satisfied?” you teased, and it felt so delightful to see you smile at him.

“Very,” he said with a grin.

When Sinbad pressed his lips onto yours, you first hesitated, used to the unpleasant feeling his advances sometimes brought you, even if he never had crossed any of the bigger boundaries. But him holding your face so softly, after he proved himself for you like some chivalrous knight, bared himself for you, made a pact with you—the moment felt so right, especially when you felt reassured enough to kiss him back.

Yet you couldn’t help a feeling of being swallowed by some part of Sinbad, still alarmed by his weird promise. It’s his eye he promised to give you, but what is it, that you will have to give him too?

With your eyes closed, you didn’t see his eyes darkening. To finally have you, was a win greater than ever. Sinbad wasn’t naive to believe all he had for you was affection. His sense of possessiveness, especially with how greedy he was; lust for you and need to consume you, it all fought against his affection and feelings for you. But those feelings—they were genuine, and once he had you, you’re never leaving his side again, and you will spend your remaining days making his heart tremble like this, over and over.

If he ever has to kill a man, anyone threatening your placement beside his side, he will do so with no hesitation. That darkness he had inside himself, it will always follow both of you. You had every right to be wary of him the entire time, and he almost felt pity for you. Almost, as you were his now.

But he’ll make sure to cherish you regardless, no matter how many times you will get scared of him.

More Sinbad fics [masterlist]

[mommyslittlebird]

A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

[hexhomos]

I really hate that so many are against Viktor having the kids because his in utero imagery, embryo face splitting, etc... it's just fitting. With his making a better future, for those that exist and will exist... I don't think he'd hate children, not at all. And as for him hating being pregnant, I think most people find it unpleasant LMFAO. Just because he's disabled doesn't mean he isn't capable of carrying. Disabled people can have, and can want to have, children. I should know, as it's personal to me. How do you feel on this?

I think this is all completely valid. At the same time I fully understand the other side of the issue, because (personally) I'm very viscerally repulsed by the idea of having a pregnancy, just on a gut level. Periods make me feel capital T terrible, I have enough health issues routinely that I'm on edge about losing control of my body every 3 months; and having a baby is The most chaotic and disorienting bodily experience you can willingly sign up for. Nine months of gestation! And it's not over even after the baby is out! You could be changed forever!

I'm empathetic to the viewpoint that viktor would be hyperaware of all the associated trials & risks and he wouldn't be super excited to sign up for it. When you're born with an uterus you're bombarded with the messaging that pregnancy is Inevitable and Desired and if you don't do it soon enough you are, in fact, wasting a precious limited resource of your body - and this is the norm, this is expected, but also generally quite horrific. I think people expressing their negative feelings on the trope come more from a place of personal discomfort, and fandom niches are one of the only spaces where this can be expressed without people looking at you like some sort of confessed criminal (or god forbid, a broken woman!!!!)

I don't think Viktor’s imagery necessarily implies pregnancy so much as him being trapped in a state of arrested development, reverting to a pre-ego self (or, a rebirth and reformation) he's on the death-life cycle, quite literally.

I also honestly believe ship babies stuff can be cute, and I've liked some of it. I've even read some pregnant viktor fics before, and eventually decided those aren't for me. To each their own! I like viktor as a spokesperson of body horror and i think the machine herald could do some great free abortions. I'm pro-get-jayce-pregnant. Life will find a way. He would probably see all of the positive sides and brush off the negatives then get really in touch with his feelings. let viktor be the bewildered dad. that's my take

[adieutristana]

asexual reader headcanons; arcane women x fem!reader

this one is completely self-indulgent because i want to validate myself. if there happens to be a demand for this, enjoy

disclaimer that i’m aware asexuality is a spectrum. i lean way toward the sex-repulsed side of things, so that’s how i will write reader.

summary; arcane women dating asexual!reader

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is asexual (duh), not rly nsfw but sex is talked about? if that makes sense, maybe (probably) ooc, VERY brief mentions of sa, kinda short, again this is self-indulgent

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* not even really a conversation that’s had. you tell her that you’re asexual, she looks at you for a moment, shrugs, and goes back to whatever she’s doing.

✧.* honestly does not care.

✧.* this scared you at first- her lack of response made you think she might be upset, or as if she wanted to pretend she didn’t hear you. when you brought it up with her, jinx seemed to be a bit confused as to why it was such a big deal to you.

✧.* “so what? i can still bring you around zaun, and hold you, and kiss you in the hideout. that stuff doesn’t matter.”

✧.* you’ll have to discuss boundaries with her of course. i personally believe she has a lot of stamina, but not the highest drive, so it doesn’t really matter to her. you’re open to the idea, just not right now? great. you don’t think you can ever see yourself having sex? that’s cool too.

✧.* what matters to jinx is that you’re around. you’re there. she’s yours, and you’re hers. she wants that connection, the humanity of it all.

✧.* still super touchy. of course she won’t do anything that crosses a line, but jinx is gonna be sat in your lap and peppering kisses all over your face while rambling away about some new invention of hers any chance she gets.

✧.* “sooo… what’s my pretty girl up to? nothing? oh, i guess i’ll find a spot then…”

✧.* before sprawling herself out on your lap, giggling up at you. she thinks she’s hilarious.

✧.* i think she’d still make a lot of dirty jokes, though. jinx doesn’t necessarily mean anything by them, she’s just a girl who likes to laugh and have a fun time. she’ll stop if you ask her to.

✧.* if she does do something out of line, she’s immediately apologizing profusely and asking what she can do to make it right. probably one of the downsides of dating jinx… you’ll have to assure her endlessly that it’s okay, she made a mistake, you’re not upset. jinx just hates the thought of you being mad at her, she can’t bear even the thought of losing you.

✧.* jinx can be pretty romantic when she wants to be- in her own way, of course. she’s always been less than conventional. sex is one way of expressing love- but she’s got a bunch more, don’t worry.

✧.* post-it notes on your things with stick figure drawings of the two of you, surprise kisses in the middle of you talking, impromptu firework shows just for you…

vi;

✧.* i don’t think she’d really care much either. she is sexual, but she doesn’t need it to survive i don’t think?

✧.* if anything, she was just a bit confused when you told her about your sexuality. she didn’t realize that that was an option until you told her about your preferences

✧.* but it’s you! and vi cares about you, so she’ll do whatever she can to make sure that you’re happy. she probably will ask if you’d be open to the possibility someday, but she won’t pressure you if you tell her ‘no’ or ‘not anytime soon.’

✧.* “as long as i get to be with you, cupcake.”

✧.* vi cannot stand the idea of ever doing anything out of line, though, so she’ll make sure to outline absolutely everything with you. as i’ve said in other posts, i think vi would be a pretty good communicator. getting things out of the way before they become a problem. gods forbid she tried to make a move on you before you had told her.

✧.* still suuuuch a tease, just in a more ‘pg’ way. she’ll withhold kisses from you just to see you pout, she’ll brush your back from behind you and chuckle when you jump in surprise.

✧.* you’re just adorable to vi, don’t mind her.

✧.* “what? i can’t think it’s funny? i think you need to lighten up a little, babe.”

✧.* vi will definitely ask you questions as well, though it’s not anything malicious or her trying to prod. the first place her mind goes is it being a trauma response- but regardless of your answer, she’ll support it. she just wants to understand you and where you’re coming from better, and if it’s something as simple as you just not enjoying the idea of sex, then so be it!

✧.* cannot reiterate enough how important communication is. vi loves you, she wants to understand you, she wants to know exactly what to do and what not to do.

mel;

✧.* i don't think she'd mind much, honestly. mel is very well-read, probably already knows a good deal about human sexuality and the wide spectrum it is. i don't think she'd ever necessarily considered that someone could just... not experience sexual attraction, but she doesn't really think twice about it when you tell her.

✧.* of course she has questions, but they're only so that she can understand you better. she can't get all of her knowledge on a topic like this from research, of course.

✧.* one of the most important things to mel is connection. sex is one way to connect, but not the only, and she’ll happily take the other options if it’s what you need.

✧.* good communication, physical touch, taking you out for sweet dinners or letting you look after her after something particularly dangerous… all things that mel loves. feeling close to you, being there with you, sharing warm moments with you. she loves spoiling you, it’s quickly become one of her favorite things to do.

✧.* “anything you want to do, dearest,” she’d say. “just name it, and it’s yours. no matter how far it is, or how outlandish, you’ll be happy.”

✧.* if you decide that you are open to a sexual relationship, mel will cover every single base with you before trying anything. of course that’s what should be done, but she genuinely wants to make sure everything is to your comfort and you’re happy. and you’re going it because you want to, not just to please her

✧.* mel is just such a sweet and gentle lover all around. as long as she has that level of connection, the companionship, the trust, she’s happy. as long as she gets to kiss you and hold you when she needs to, as long as she gets to hear that you love her, mel is happy.

sevika;

✧.* you’re gonna have to explain to sevika what asexuality is and what it means to you. i’m so sorry

✧.* it’s not that she won’t understand, it’s just that she’s not too familiar with the terminology and well… it’s not very common

✧.* once you do explain it to her, though, there’s not much of a reaction. i don’t think she’d ever considered the possibility of someone just not feeling sexual attraction or not feeling the need for sex. but once she thinks about it, she supposes it makes sense, everyone is different.

✧.* sevika is sexual. she canonically goes to zaun’s brothel. but i don’t think she’d be bothered having an asexual partner, it’s nice to just have somebody around, somebody to care for and love, even if they’re not up to that side of a relationship. she appreciates your company, your reassurance, your love regardless of what form it comes in.

✧.* that, and she has a hand if she gets desperate.

✧.* “doesn’t matter, dove. can still share a bed and touch you, yeah…? just in other ways.”

✧.* i’ve said it several times before and i’ll say it again, sevika is fiercely loyal. something as insignificant as this will not affect that! if anything she’s thankful that you’re honest with her, you’re upfront, and that you trust her to love you the way you need to be loved

✧.* incredibly touchy regardless, just keeps her hands off of certain areas unless you tell her it’s okay to put them there. she loves being by your side, loves that contact, loves pressing soft kisses to your neck or wrapping her arms around you from behind as she whispers sweet words to you.

caitlyn;

✧.* you’re gonna have to explain it to her… she’s heard of asexuality before, but i don’t think she’d really understand right off the bat. you’ll probably have to explain that it’s not the same as celibacy, just the fact that you don’t feel sexual attraction to begin with

✧.* once it clicks there’s not really much conversation after that! of course cait will ask about your boundaries, what asexuality means to you specifically, what you do and don’t want to do, but she catches on pretty quickly. you just need to give her a second for everything to make sense in her head

✧.* caitlyn is pretty romantic i’d think, and although she’s sexual, asexuality is far from a dealbreaker for her. cait is more than willing to express her love in other ways- (non sexual) physical touch, little words of reassurance, her protection, the way she does you favors without you even having to ask…

✧.* caitlyn makes sure to use her words especially. she loves telling you that she loves you, she loves complimenting you, calling you sweet pet names, making you feel special by speaking to you. it makes her so incredibly happy

✧.* “you’re beautiful, darling, do you know that? you drive me mad constantly, i swear…”

✧.* caitlyn is also pretty big on communication and i think she’d be the type to make sure any little touch is okay. she gets a bit anxious, and you might have to reassure her that it’s perfectly fine for her to grab your waist or hips. she just worries, she doesn’t want to overstep.

✧.* she’s down for anything that you want to do, and don’t want to do. it’s all for your comfort, and as long as you’re hers- her love, her girlfriend, she’s happy.

lest;

✧.* doesn’t really have a grand reaction to you telling her. i’d say she’s sexual and experienced, but this also makes her aware of the various ways sexuality works. so what if you don’t experience sexual attraction, or the same desires many others do?

✧.* of course there are the multiple conversations, mostly about boundaries and exactly what you do and don’t want to do. lest is fine with anything, but she’s a lover at heart. all she wants is to take care of you, and make sure that you’re comfortable with whatever is going on.

✧.* still incredibly touchy. stealing kisses in between clients if you visit her at work, snuggling up to you, purring against you as you embrace her… lest genuinely just loves to be close to you

✧.* she’s tired constantly. lest is a busy woman, so being able to come home to you after a long day of dealing, negotiating, stroking clients’ egos… it’s a treat. something that becomes motivation for her. count on lest to crawl up next to you on the couch when she finally arrives home, sighing as you card your fingers through her silky hair.

✧.* “i swear, they get more and more difficult every day…” she’d lament.

✧.* IF you decide that you’re up for anything, lest will be checking in on you the entire time during to make sure you’re okay. probably the first few times. she knows you’re alright, you’re safe, but the last thing she wants is to make her asexual partner uncomfortable or hurt her.

✧.* but even if you’re not, it doesn’t make any difference to lest.

✧.* she’s got a beautiful woman who loves her, who cares for her. who she can bring around piltover and spoil, share peaceful moments with… it’s all she could ask for.

[txttletale]

hey not trying to be a shithead but genuinely curious; and not saying it isnt, but what makes honest hearts like super racist? because, okay its been a while but i dont remember it being *that* bad?

am i missing something? (probably)

well, essentially, the whole dlc hinges its plot on its idea of 'tribal' society vs. 'civilized' society. this is like... a distinction with origins in 19th century scientific racism used to argue that indigenous peoples were 'primitive' and 'backwards', a lesser form of life compared to the more developed 'civilized' people. and this is a distinction that is everywhere in all the fallout games, including new vegas (i think it's super fucking racist that the white gloves practice of cannibalism is constantly narratively linked to their 'tribal origins' and described in the terms of a regression or degeneration)--but honest hearts is about it and so it's really inescapable.

joshua sawyer can say whatever he likes about multi-ethnic diverse groups or whatever but the tribes in honest hearts are very clearly inspired by racist stereotypes about native americans--they are naive, gullible morons (follows-chalk can't understand the concept of a casino) at worst and noble savages with (textually) biblical innocence at best. their names, their art, their societies--all just a white guy's idea of "vaguely native american" without any research or care.

and imo worst of all (and this is something im aware the devs have properly acknowledged) they have absolutely no agency--your role in the dlc is to be a "civilized" outsider who tells them which of two white "civilized" mormons to listen to. none of the 'tribals' are able to make their own decisions or lead themselves--they need a mormon missionary to tell them what to do! there is no way to resolve the dlc without picking which white mormon missionary they should listen to other than just murdering everyone indiscriminately.

and, like--i am aware that honest hearts thinks it is gesturing towards a critique of these ideas. you can criticize the paternalism daniel shows towards the sorrows, and the dlc clearly intended it to be criticized--but that criticism is weak and hollow when the only way to follow up on it is to put a different white mormon in charge. it is the most archetypal white saviour narrative possible--and yes, i also know daniel was 'supposed to be asian', but that doesn't change anything because he is in fact, as the "civilized" missionary preaching paternalistically to the "primitive tribals", fundamentally white-coded

so i mean yea it's racist because it relies on racist stereotypes about native americans, mandates that a white person come and take charge of these poor stupid 'tribes'--but even if you changed all that, it's fundamentally about an idea of 'civilization vs. tribal society' that it accepts as a true and meaningful distinction as its core premise, and that is just a straight up racist premise.

(and the reason i keep bringing up that both daniel and josh are mormons is that mormons have a long and storied history of brutal violence and colonialism against indigenous peoples, from their original violent settlement of utah to their 'indian placement program' to their deeply racist scripture, which makes their portrayal as benevolent white saviours particularly galling and repulsive)

[aro-culture-is]

What is a QPR and why are aros attracted to it /gen, I’m new to all of this and I want to learn.

QPR = QueerPlatonic Relationship.

This is a term that explicitly has a vague definition, because it is meant to encompass many things. That said, the definition I think is most useful is "a relationship which queers the culturally normative platonic relationship". Yes, this is broad, yes, it can apply to all sorts of folks and situations that probably don't use the term, and yes, it's not very explanatory by itself.

But. The point of this term is to be open to describing a lot of things for those who find it useful. Originating in a-spec communities, the idea of a QPR is typically a long-term, committed relationship that is not romantic, may or may not be sexual, and may be platonic, but not in a way that typical friendships are seen as.

For example: an aromantic person and an aro-spec friend of theirs are close. They intend to move in together, live together, and for all intents and purposes, make major decisions together which are typically viewed as things married couples do (like buying a house, moving for jobs, adopting pets). They do not feel romantic attraction to each other, but they wouldn't do this with just any friend of theirs. They have a close bond, and it's not really understood by a lot of folks around them, who may, depending on the genders of the individuals involved, be assumed to be (romantically) together and inept at romance, be together but poorly closeted, be poor poor bachelors who will never get a girl that way... all sorts of stuff, and a lot of the assumptions place a "that's not entirely platonic" bent on it. Thus: queer.

There's been debate about QPRs in all sorts of ways over the years, some in good faith, some not, some productive in exploring our assumptions, and some which deeply hurt and ostracized other members of our community. Some of these remnants of debates are popular to run into - some may refer to QPRs as halfway between romantic and platonic, some may insist that there should be a separate term for sexual or non-sexual QPRs (broadly, consensus was that this was an unacceptable division, redefining a term used to mean both from the beginning, usually a discussion in poor faith by either a sex-negative and/or sex-repulsed individual), and some may attack the way that this term doesn't require all individuals involved to be queer. Truthfully, my advice as someone who's identified as aromantic for a little over a decade?

Always leave space for people to have their terms, but never, ever enforce those terms on others. If a term is useful to the individual(s) involved, fantastic! If it fits them to a T, but they don't like it? Don't use it for them! Frankly, view that as similar to misgendering - they've now explicitly said they don't want to be called that. Just... be nice.

Lastly, for reasons I don't quite recall, people in QPRs used to be called zucchinis as a cutesy thing. The relationship itself was a QPR, and the people were each other's zucchini. :)

[idkfitememate]

Still tired but just wanted to remind you that the Obey Me Brothers (- Satan + Lilith) were probably the “Seven Heavenly Virtues” before they fell/died and that was probably so hard for them like-

Lucifer going from Humility to Pride

Mammon going from Charity to Greed

Leviathan going from Kindness to Envy

Asmodeus going from Chastity to Lust

Beelzebub going from Temperance to Gluttony

And Belphegor going from Diligence to Sloth

Imagine as Lucifer going through it because now you can’t talk with your brothers, now you hold them to an expectation you would’ve never before - and yourself to an even higher one - and watching them loose themselves to their sins.

Watching Mammon lose himself to monetary values to the point where he’d be willing to sell his own brothers out if it came to it, and knowing that at some point he would’ve sold his everything because he believed it was right. Shit thing is that he still loves his brothers, and under the greed is guilt for hurting them like this.

Watching Levi, once a kind and loving man who would never leave anyone out become a self deprecating and destructive mess who shuts the world out. Who spends his time obsessing over what others have that he can’t and fighting tooth and nail to fix that, even if it hurts him. He, like Lucifer, has to be the best at his chosen craft or else it’s all for naught, but unlike Lucifer he’s very vocal about his losses and how much he hates others who have better than him.

Asmo, who at one point was basically repulsed at the idea of carnal love and wanted to wait, to hold out until he found the one he was searching for. Believe if that saving himself for his future partner was the ultimate act of love. And now watching him fall to depravity, unable to feel love unless it’s carnal in some sense. Everything must be passionate, with little room for true love. Feelings pushed aside for the heat of the moment, giving his body away to feel something. Finding no worth in himself unless it’s his body, and that translating over to how he treats his brothers. They have to suck up his shockingly flirty remarks to them because he can’t help it, that’s how he’s forced to show love now; fast, rushed, and carnal.

Watching Beel, a man who took everything in moderation, never allowing himself more than what he needed in food and drink in favor of helping others, loose himself to the mind numbing pleasure of sitting there and eating and drinking and eating and drinking and eating and drinking with no end in sight. As he can’t help himself but do anything for a meal, much like Mammon. Willing to do damn near anything to fill the hole in his stomach. No matter the cost.

And Belphy. A man once so awake and alert and ready for anything that even Lucifer would have to tell him to take a break. Always raring and ready to go and help any and everyone in need sleep his days away. Too lazy to do basic tasks at some points like eat. Lazing about too tired to do anything, including care for those around him. Too tired to do anything.

And the haunting truth that you, as Lucifer, created Wrath. Satan, your youngest brother in age and fourth in power. Knowing on the daily that he puts on a mask, a front so that his rage doesn’t consume him in an all burning inferno. Knowing that any little thing could set him off, and that’d be it. He shares next to nothing with you and your brothers because, while unspoken, it’s known that he’ll never be as close as the six of you. He didn’t experience the war, he didn’t experience the fall, he didn’t experience her death. Unlike your brothers who have all changed in some distressing way he’s always been rage. Always been Wrath. A true sin through and through. Never will you experience the same things and that keeps you separated.

And about her, to know deep in your heart that she, the Virtue of Patients, would’ve become the Sin of Wrath keeps you up at night, her face of smiles turning to a wrathful frown scares you. Nightmares flash behind your eyes of her being mad, furious even, so you starve the nights off with a never ending pile of paperwork and coffee.

… Did I just accidentally character study?-

[discofama]

I love how comfortable Adam and Lute are around each other.

I mean, look at this

So they're casually together during the extermination, much like how friends gravitate towards each other when in an event even if they're not talking or doing anything, just because it feels easier than being alone. Or perhaps Lute flew closer because she saw the huge war machine approaching Adam and got a little worried.

Charlie and Vaggie are going to attack them, and look at what they do:

Despite being Adam the one closer to Vaggie, he doesn't move an inch. They don't say anything (besides the shit talk) and Adam doesn't even look at her, he expects Lute will take care of Vaggie with no order from him, even if he's closer.

Obviously Adam is confident and doesn't think Vaggie can hurt him at all, but he clearly trusts Lute to get her out of the way. He probably knows how bloodthirsty Lute is for Vaggie and lets her have her without a word, and Lute complies, again, without a word, leaving him to handle the strongest of the enemies at that moment (Charlie).

So in this second, Adam and Lute communicated in silence. Adam didn't move and trusted her to cut in even if it was him the one under attack, and finally Lute trusted him to handle Charlie so she could fight Vaggie, as she didn't seem worried at all of the possibility of Charlie coming to protect her girlfriend.

They're in harmony. They're just natural together.

He lets her grab him like this and is willing to listen to her. It's clear he respects her and deep down appreciates that she'll keep him from doing something stupid, even if he whines.

She also climbs him? Lol. (Look at how she holds onto his arm 🥹 she's super comfortable with touching him!)

They're always hyping each other up, like in their songs:

(Look at Lute's smug face here 👇, she's sooo satisfied with what Adam's saying)

I honestly believe that they kinda make each other worse, that neither of them would be SO mean all the time if they didn't have the other: a companion who is always backing them up, who agrees on any crap that comes out of their mouth (Lute lets him talk shit about random women and nods, Adam goes along with Lute's homophobia despite seeming to not care that much about homosexuals).

Many portray Lute being a lot smarter than Adam, but I think they're both dumbasses. I mean, we laugh at Adam for saying he never made a mistake in his fucking life, but it was Lute who first stated angels don't make mistakes, somehow keeping a serious face. I think Lute seems smart because she's more quiet and cares about the rules, but she doesn't do logic very well either and can be impulsive too, as shown in the end of ep. 1.

They're probably each other's best/only friend, because they're just so unlikeable. And it makes sense they'd deeply care for one another. They care about that person that stands them and agrees with them and actually enjoys being with them. They're always seen together, hanging out even off duty. They clearly have a lot of fun.

I'll be honest. I ship GuitarSpear, I love it, but I don't know if I want it to be canon for 2 reasons:

1. Lute might be a lesbian.

She is so repulsed by homosexuals that it feels personal. Talking about how disgusting and blasphemous Charlie and Vaggie's love is, or how many cocks were in Angel's mouth and calling him a whore. She cares too much about it for it to not be personal, and I think it makes sense that she'd be a closet lesbian with a shit ton of internalized homophobia. She probably knew about Vaggie's sexuality and held a lot of resentment towards her before tearing off her wings. Maybe she was even attracted to her and was so repulsed about it that she redirected her self-hatred to Vaggie.

2. I think it could be better for Adam's character.

Let's just think about it. This character has a very distorted view of women, he has a fixation on them and hypersexualizes them. So the idea of this horny man, who always sees women with sex colored glasses, being good friends with a hot female below him in the hierarchy with no sexual or romantic interest whatsoever is nice to me. It'd work as sort of a redeeming quality in regards of his relationship with women, and I personally think this man is very redeemable. Let's hope he gets a second chance!

Still! All of this trust and comfort and team feelings can be read as romantic and I certainly wouldn't mind if it becomes canon! They could be the best villain couple!

Summarizing, these two are soulmates, end of the story. They're worse together, but also probably provide the other of a very needed company.

I have no clue if Adam will actually come back, but if he doesn't, I'll feel very bad for Lute. Yeah, yeah, she's an evil bitch, I don't care.